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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

JAMES   J.   MC    BRIDE 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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http://www.archive.org/details/bothwellpoeminsiOOayto 


BOTHWELL: 


A   POEM. 


IN     SIX     PARTS. 


W.    EDMONDSTOUNE    AYTOUN, 

D.    C.    L., 

Author  of"  Lays  of  the  Scottish  Cavaliers,"  "  Bon  Gaultier's  Ballads,"  &c. 


BOSTON: 
TICK  NOR     AND     FIEI^DS. 

W  DCCC  LVI. 


Author's  Edition. 


c.'.MEniD3E :  TnLiisTOS  AND  TonRV,  rnisTKKa. 


-5  4^ 


SIE   EBWAKD  BTILWER-LYTTON,  BART.,  ILP, 


IN    MEMORY    OF    A    TISIT    TO    HOLYROOD, 


THIS    POEM    IS    INSCRIBED 


BY  THE  AUinOE. 


712494 


PREFACE. 

Thk  scene  of  this  Poem,  which  is  in  the  form 
of  a  monolofTue,  is  laid  in  the  fortress  of  Mabnoe, 
where  Both  well  was  confined.  I  have  endeavored 
to  make  available  for  poetical  composition  the 
most  striking  events  in  the  history  of  Mary, 
Queen  of  Scots,  down  to  the  period  when  she 
parted  from  Bothwell  at  Carberry  Hill;  and  in 
doing  so,  I  wish  it  to  be  distinctly  understood, 
that,  except  in  minor  and  immaterial  matters, 
necessary  for  the  construction  of  a  Poem  of  this 
lengtli,  I  have  not  deviated  from  what  I  consider 
to  be  the  historical  truth.  I  have  founded  my 
idea  of  the  character  of  Bothwell  on  the  descrip- 
tions of  him  given  by  Throckmorton  and  Herries: 
the  one  representing  him  to-  be  "glorious,  boast- 
ful, rash,  and  hazardous,''  and  the  other  as  "  a 
man  high  in  his  own  conceit,  proud,  vicious,  and 
vainglorious  above  measure."  The  reader  will 
find,  in  the  Notes  appended,  some  information 
regarding  the  more  obscure  and  contested  points 
of  the  history  of  this  remarkable  period. 

Edinburgh,  10th  July,  1856.  , 


PART    FIRST. 


BOTHWELL. 


PART    FIRST 


Cold  —  cold  !     The  wind  howls  fierce  without 

It  drives  the  sleet  and  snow ; 
With  thundering  hurl,  the  angry  sea 

Smites  on  the  crags  below. 
Each  wave  that  leaps  against  the  rock 

Makes  this  old  prison  reel  — 
God  !  cast  it  down  upon  my  head, 

And  let  me  cease  to  feel ! 
Cold  —  cold  !     The  brands  are  burning  out. 

The  dying  embers  wane  ; 
The  drops  fall  plashing  from  the  roof 

Like  slow  and  sullen  rain. 
Cold  —  cold  !     And  yet  the  villain  kernes 

Who  keep  me  fettered  here. 
Are  feasting  in  the  hall  above, 

And  holding  Christmas  cheer. 
When  the  wind  pauses  for  its  breath, 

I  hear  their  idiot  bray, 
1 


10  BOTHWELL. 

The  laugh,  the  shout,  the  stamping  feet. 

The  song  and  roundelay. 
They  pass  the  jest,  they  quaff  the  cup, 

The  Yule-log  sparkles  brave. 
They  riot  o'er  my  dungeon  vault 

As  though  it  were  my  grave. 
Ay,  howl  again,  thou  bitter  wind, 

Hoar  louder  yet,  thou  sea  ! 
And  drown  the  gusts  of  brutal  mirth 

That  mock  and  madden  me  ! 
Ho,  ho  !  the  eagle  of  the  North 

Has  stooped  upon  the  main  ! 
'Scream  on,  O  eagle,  in  thy  flight, 

Through  blast  and  hurricane  — 
And,  when  thou  meetcst  on  thy  way 

The  black  and  plunging  bark, 
Where  those  who  pilot  by  the  stars 

Stand  quaking  in  the  dark, 
Down  with  thy  pinion  on  the  mast, 

Scream  louder  in  the  air, 
And  stifle  in  the  wallowing  sea 

The  shrieks  of  their  despair  ! 
Be  my  avenger  on  this  night. 

When  all,  save  I,  am  free  ; 
Why  should  I  care  for  mortal  man, 

When  men  care  nought  for  me  ? 
Care  nought  ?     They  loathe  me,  one  and  all. 

Else  why  should  I  be  here  — 
I,  starving  in  a  foreign  cell, 

A  Scottish  prince  and  jicer  ? 


BOTHAVELL.  H 

II. 

O,  that  the  madness,  -which  at  times 

Comes  surging  through  the  brain, 
Would  smite  me  deaf,  and  dumb,  and  blind, 

No  more  to  wake  again  — 
Would  make  me,  what  I  am  indeed, 

A  beast  within  a  cage. 
Without  the  sense  to  feel  my  bonds. 

Without  the  power  to  rage  — 
Would  give  me  visions  dark  and  drear, 
^  Although  they  were  of  hell, 
Instead  of  memories  of  the  place 

From  which  I  stooped  and  fell ! 

III. 

I  was  the  husband  of  a  Queen, 

The  partner  of  a  throne  ; 
For  one  short  month  the  sceptred  might 

Of  Scotland  was  my  own. 
The  crown  that  father  Fergus  wore 

Lay  ready  for  my  hand, 
Yea,  but  for  treason,  I  ha.d  been 

The  monarch  of  the  land  ; 
The  King  of  Scots,  in  right  of  her 

Who  was  my  royal  bride, 
The  fairest  woman  on  the  earth 

That  e'er  the  sun  espied. 
O  Mary  —  Mary  !     Even  now, 

Seared  as  I  am  to  shame, 


12  BOTHWELL. 

The  blood  grows  thick  around  my  heart 

At  utterance  of  thy  name  ! 
I  see  her,  as  in  bygone  days, 

A  widow,  yet  a  child, 
Within  the  fields  of  sunny  France, 

When  heaven  and  fortune  smiled. 
The  violets  grew  beneath  her  feet. 

The  lilies  budded  fair, 
All  that  is  beautiful  and  bright 

Was  gathered  round  her  there. 
O  lovelier  than  the  fairest  flower 

That  ever  bloomed  on  green, 
Was  she,  the  lily  of  the  land. 

That  young  and  spotless  Queen  ! 
The  sweet,  sweet  smile  upon  her  lips, 

Her  eyes  so  kind  and  clear. 
The  magic  of  her  gentle  voice, 

That  even  now  1  hear  ! 
And  nobles  knelt,  and  princes  bent 

Before  her  as  she  came  ; 
A  Queen  by  gift  of  nature  she, 

More  than  a  Queen  in  name. 
Even  I,  a  rugged  border  lord, 

Unused  to  courtly  ways. 
Whose  tongue  was  never  tutored  yet 

To  lisp  in  polished  phrase ; 
I,  who  would  rather  on  the  heath 

Confront  a  feudal  foe. 
Than  linger  in  a  royal  hall 

Where  lackeys  come  and  go  — 


BOTHWELL.  13 


I,  who  had  seldom  bent  the  knee 
At  mass,  or  yet  at  prayer, 

Bowed  down  in  homage  at  her  feet, 
And  paid  my  worship  there  ! 


My  worship  ?  yes  !     My  fealty  ?  ay  !  — 

Rise,  Satan,  if  thou  wilt, 
And  limn  in  fire,  on  yonder  wall, 

The  pictures  of  my  guilt  — 
Accuser  !  Tempter  !    Do  thy  worst, 

■In  this  malignant  hour. 
When  God  and  man  abandon  me. 

And  I  am  in  thy  power  ! 
Come  up,  and  show  me  all  the  past, 

Spare  nothing  that  has  been  ; 
Thou  wert  not  present,  juggling  fiend, 

When  first  I  saw  my  Queen ! 

V. 

I  worshipped  ;  and  as  pure  a  heart 

To  her,  I  swear,  was  mine. 
As  ever  breathed  a  truthful  vow 

Before  Saint  Mary's  shrine  : 
I  thought  of  her,  as  of  a  star 

Within  the  heavens  above, 
That  such  as  I  might  gaze  upon. 

But  never  dare  to  love. 
I  swore  to  her  that  day  my  troth, 

As  belted  earl  and  knight, 


14  BOTH-WELL. 

That  I  would  still  defend  her  throne, 

And  aye  protect  her  right. 
Well  ;  who  dare  call  me  traitor  now  ? 

My  faith  I  never  sold ; 
These  fingers  never  felt  the  touch 

Of  England's  proffered  gold. 
Free  from  one  damning  guilt  at  least 

My  soul  has  ever  been  ; 
I  did  not  sell  my  country's  rights, 

Nor  fawn  on  England's  Queen  ! 
Why  stand'st  thou  ever  at  my  head? 

False  devil,  hence,  I  say  ! 
And  seek  for  traitors,  black  as  hell, 

'Mongst  those  who  preach  and  pray 
Get  thee  across  the  howling  seas, 

And  bend  o'er  Murray's  bed, 
For  there  the  falsest  villain  lies 

That  ever  Scotland  bred. 
False  to  his  faith,  a  wedded  priest ; 

Still  falser  to  the  Crown ; 
False  to  the  blood,  that  in  his  veins 

Made  bastardy  renown ; 
False  to  his  sister,  whom  he  swore 

To  guard  and  shield  from  harm ; 
The  head  of  many  a  felon  plot, 

But  never  once  the  arm  ! 
What  tie  so  holy  that  his  hand 

Hath  snapped  it  not  in  twain  ? 
What  oath  so  sacred  Init  he  broke 

For  selfish  end  or  "jrain  ? 


.  f 


BOTHWEI-L.  lo 

A  verier  knave  ne'er  stepped  tlie  earth 

Since  this  wide  world  began ; 
And  yet  —  he  bandies  texts  with  Knox,        : 

And  walks  a  pious  man  ! 


Or  pass  to  crafty  Lethington, 

That  alchemist  in  wile, 
To  grim  Glencairn,  the  preacher's  pride. 

To  Cassilis  or  Argyle  — 
To  Morton,  steeped  in  lust  and  guilt, 

My  old  accomplice  he  !  — 
O  well  for  him  that  'twixt  us  twain 

There  rolls  the  trackless  sea  ! 
O  well  for  him  that  never  more 

On  Scottish  hill  or  plain, 
My  foot  shall  tread,  my  shadow  fall. 

My  voice  be  heard  again  : 
For  there  are  words  that  I  could  speak 

Would  make  him  blench  and  quail. 
Yea,  shiver  like  an  aspen  tree, 

Amidst  his  men  of  mail  !  — 
Get  thee  to  them,  who  sold  their  Queen 

For  foreign  gold  and  pay  ; 
Assail  them,  rack  them,  mock  them,  fiend 

Bide  with  them  till  the  day. 
But  leave  me  here  alone  to-night  — 

No  fear  that  I  will  pray  ! 


>6  BOTHWELL. 

VII. 

0  many  a  deed  that  I  have  done 
Weighs  heavy  on  my  soul ; 

For  I  have  been  a  sinful  man, 
And  never,  since  my  life  began. 

Have  bowed  me  to  control. 
Perchance  my  temper  was  too  rude, 

Perchance  my  pride  too  great ; 
Perchance  it  was  my  fantasy, 

Perchance  it  was  my  fate  ! 

1  will  not  pour  my  muttered  guilt 

In  any  shaveling's  ear. 
Nor  ask  for  prayer  from  mortal  lips 

Were  death  and  judgment  near. 
They  shall  not  weigh  those  deeds  of  mine 

By  moral  code  or  rule  ; 
Man  deals  with  man  by  human  laws, 

And  judges  like  a  fool  ! 


In  Scotland,  when  my  name  is  heard 

From  Orkney's  utmost  bound. 
To  where  Tweed's  silver  waters  run. 

Men  shudder  at  the  sound. 
They  will  not  even  deign  to  pray 

For  one  so  lost  and  vile  — 
They,  who  have  raced  to  see  me  ride, 
They,  who  have  waited  by  my  side 

For  nothing  save  a  smile  ! 


1-  BOTHAVELL.  17 

And  yet  I  am  not  guiltier  now 

Than  when  they  watched  me  there  ; 
Not  more  deserving  of  their  curse, 

Less  worthy  of  their  prayer  ! 

IX. 

What  charge  —  what  crime  ?     Come,  trusty  peers, 

Come  all  of  you,  and  say 
Why  I  should  be  a  prisoner  here, 

And  you  be  free  to-day  ! 
You  dealt  with  England  —  that's  assured ! 

You  murdered  Riccio  too ; 
And  he  who  planned  that  felon  deed. 

And,  with  his  wife  in  view. 
Plunged  his  weak  dagger  in  the  corpse  — 

That  coward  wretch  I  slew  ! 

X. 

A  king  ?  he  was  no  king  of  mine  ! 

A  weak  and  worthless  boy  — 
A  fool,  in  whose  insensate  hand 
The  fairest  jewel  of  the  land 

Lay  a  neglected  toy. 
A  man,  indeed,  in  outward  form, 

But  not  a  man  in  mind. 
Less  fit  by  far  to  rule  the  realm 

Than  many  a  vassal  hind. 
O  had  I  earlier  sought  the  place 

That  late  —  too  late  —  was  mine ; 


18  BOTH  WELL.  P. 

Had  I  but  seen  the  woman  then, 

And  deemed  her  less  divine, 
When  first  upon  the  Scottish  shore 

She,  like  a  radiant  star, 
Descended,  bringing  hope  and  mirth 

From  those  bright  realms  afar  ; 
When  all  men's  hearts  were  blithe  and  glad 

To  greet  their  youthful  Queen, 
And  once  again  within  the  land 

A  happy  face  was  seen  — 
I  might  have  made  my  homage  more 

Than  that  of  subject  peer. 
And  with  my  oath  of  loyalty 

Have  mixed  a  vow  more  dear  — 
Proclaimed  myself  to  be  her  knight, 

As  in  the  olden  time, 
When  any  he  that  wore  the  spurs 

Might  love  Avithout  a  crime  ; 
When  Queens  were  queens  of  chivalry  ; 

And  deeds  of  bold  emprise. 
Not  flattering  words  or  fawning  speech, 

Found  grace  in  woman's  eyes. 
O  had  I  then  been  bold  indeed. 

And  known  the  secret  power 
Which  he  who  wins  in  battle-field 

Can  use  in  lady's  bower  — 
Had  I,  with  friends  enow  to  back. 

And  all  my  kith  and  kin, 
Who  hold  the  borders,  far  and  wide, 

And  hemmed  the  marches  in. 


BOTHWELL.  19 

But  bid  defiance,  broad  and  bold, 

To  all  who  dared  advance 
To  claim  the  hand  of  Scotland's  Queen, 

The  widow-child  of  France  — 
Had  I  but  sent  the  cry  abroad, 

That  neither  English  peer, 
Nor  Scottish  lord  from  England's  court, 

Should  be  our  master  here  — 
Had  I  but  trusted  to  myself. 

And  bravely  ta'en  my  stand. 
Then  Darnley  never  would  have  been 

The  Kins:  within  the  land. 


XI. 

Too  late  —  too  late  !     Poor  Mary  stood 

Unfriended  and  alone, 
The  tenant  of  a  dreary  hall  — 

A  melancholy  throne. 
No  more  as  in  her  grandsire's  days. 

Surrounded  by  a  ring 
Of  valiant  lords  and  gentle  knights. 
Who  for  fair  Scotland  and  her  rights 

Would  die  beside  their  King. 
Gone  was  the  star  of  chivalry 

That  gleamed  so  bright  and  pure 
Upon  the  crest  of  those  who  fell 

On  Flodden's  fatal  moor. 
Gone  were  the  merry  times  of  old  — 

The  masque,  and  mirth,  and  glee. 


20  BOTHWELL. 

And  wearier  was  the  palace  then 

Than  prison  needs  to  be. 
Forbidden  were  the  vesper  bells,  — 

They  broke  the  Sabbath  calm  ! 
Hushed  were  the  notes  of  minstrelsy  — 

They  chimed  not  with  the  psalm : 
'Twas  sin  to  smile,  'twas  sin  to  laugh, 

'Twas  sin  to  sport  or  play. 
And  heavier  than  a  hermit's  fast 

Was  each  dull  holiday. 
Was  but  the  sound  of  laughter  heard, 

Or  tinkling  of  a  lute. 
Or,  worse  than  all,  in  royal  hall. 

The  tread  of  dancing  foot  — 
Then  to  a  drove  of  gaping  clowns. 

Would  Knox  with  unction  tell 
The  vengeance  that  in  days  of  old 

Had  fallen  on  Jezebel ! 


She  stood  alone,  without  a  friend 

On  whom  her  arm  might  lean, 
No  true  and  trusty  counsellors 

Were  there  to  serve  their  Queen ; 
But  moody  men,  with  sullen  looks 

And  faces  hard  and  keen. 
They  who  professed  the  later  faith 

Were  trembling  for  their  hold 
Of  the  broad  lands  and  fertile  fields 

Owned  by  the  Church  of  old. 


I-  BOTHWELL.  21 

Apostles  they  of  easy  walk  — 

No  martyrdom  or  pain  — 
What  marvel  if  they  loved  a  creed 

That  brought  such  pleasant  gain  ? 
What  marvel  if  their  greedy  hearts 

Were  wrung  with  abject  fear, 
Lest  Rome  once  more  should  bear  the  sway. 

And  strip  them  of  their  gear  ? 
How  could  they  serve  a  Papist  Queen 

With  loyal  hearts  and  true  ? 
How  own  a  rank  idolatress 

With  Paradise  in  view  ? 
They,  who  upheld  the  word  of  truth 

With  Mammon  close  combined,  — 
How  could  they  falter  in  their  course. 

Or  change  their  steadfast  mind  ? 
England  was  near,  and  England's  Queen 

Defied  both  France  and  Rome  — 
What  marvel  if  they  went  to  her, 

And  broke  their  faith  at  home  ? 


And  she,  the  sister,  maiden  Queen  — 

Rare  maid  and  sister  she  ! 
True  daughter  of  the  Tudor  line, 
Who  claimed  her  crown  by  right  divine. 

And  ruled  o'er  land  and  sea  — 
She  who  might  well,  without  disgrace, 

Or  any  thought  of  fear, 


22  BOTHWELL. 

Have  deigned,  from  her  established  pUicc, 

To  succor  one  so  near  — 
She,  whom  her  slaves  call  wise  in  thought. 

And  generous  in  deed,  — 
How  did  she  deal  with  Scotland's  Queen, 

How  help  her  in  her  need  ? 


By  heaven  !  —  if  I  dare  speak  the  word,  — 

I,  steeped  in  guilt  and  crime, 
I,  who  must  hear  the  blame  and  brand 

Of  this  accursed  time  — 
By  heaven  !   I  thiidv,  had  Scotland  stood 

Unfricntlcd  and  alone. 
Left  to  herself,  without  intrigue, 

From  any  neighbor  throne  ; 
Free  to  decide,  and  mould,  and  fix 

The  manner  of  her  sway, 
No  Scottish  soul  had  ever  stooped 

To  cozen  or  betray  ! 
I  say  it  —  I,  the  twice  betrayed. 

Their  victim  and  their  tool  — 
I,  whom  they  made  the  sacrifice 

For  their  imrighteous  rule  ; 
-I  say  it,  even  for  the  men 

Who  drove  me  here  to  shame. 
Theirs  is^  JIm;  Jcsser,  paltrier  guilt, 

And  theirs  the  meaner  blame  ! 


BOTHWELL.  23 


XV. 

They  durst  not,  had  they  stood  alone, 

Inheritors  of  names 
That  over  Christendom  have  flown, 

As  stream  the  northern  flames,  — 
Whose  fathers,  in  their  silent  graves, 

Sleep  peacefully  and  well, 
Scotland's  great  champions  while  they  lived, 

And  greater  when  they  fell  — 
They  durst  not  so  have  wronged  their  blood, 

And  smirched  their  fair  renown, 
Have  flung  their  honor  to  the  winds, 

And  leagued  against  the  crown. 
But  at  the  gate  the  Temptress  stood, 

Not  beautiful  nor  young  ; 
Nor  luring,  as  a  Syren  might, 

By  magic  of  her  tongue  ; 
High  and  imperious,  stately,  proud, 

Yet  artful  to  beguile, 
A  woman,  without  woman's  heart, 

Or  woman's  sunny  smile  : 
By  nature  tyrannous  and  vain, 

By  king-craft  false  and  mean  — 
She  hated  Mary  from  her  soul. 

As  woman  and  as  Queen  ! 


Men  hate,  because  in  act  or  strife 
They  cross  each  other's  path ; 


24  BOTHWKLL. 

Short  is  the  space  for  jealousy, 

And  fierce  the  hour  of  wrath  : 
But  woman's  hate  runs  deeper  far, 

Thougli  shallower  at  the  spring  ; 
Right  seldom  is  it  they  forget 

The  shaft  that  galled  their  wing. 
A  fairer  face,  a  higher  place. 

More  worship,  more  applause. 
Will  make  a  woman  loathe  her  friend 

Without  a  deadlier  cause. 
In  this  at  least  Elizabeth 

To  womankind  was  true, 
For  who  would  ever  bend  to  her 

When  Mary  was  in  view  ? 
Mary,  the  bright  and  peerless  moon 

That  shines  aloft  in  heaven,  — 
Elizabeth,  the  envious  cloud 

That  o'er  its  disc  is  driven. 
What  mattered  it  that  flattering  knaves 

Proclaimed  her  Beauty's  Queen, 
And  swore  in  verse  and  fulsome  rhyme, 
That  never,  since  the  birth  of  time, 

Was  such  an  angel  seen  ? 
Each  morn  and  eve,  her  mirror  gave 

Their  wretched  words  the  lie  ; 
And  thougli  she  fain  would  have  believed. 

She  could  not  close  her  eye. 


BOTHWELL.  25" 

XVII. 

And  cause  had  she  to  hate  and  fear 

Past  woman's  pride  alone  ; 
For  Boleyn's  daughter  sate  not  safe 

Nor  surely  on  her  throne. 
And  many  a  lord  of  England  thought 

On  Mary's  right  and  claim, 
And  owned  her  in  their  wassail  cups 

As  Queen,  though  not  by  name. 
But  why  this  paltering  with  the  past  ? 

Why  mutter  idly  here, 
As  though  I  were  in  dull  debate 

With  council  or  with  peer  ? 
Is  it  the  dripping  from  the  roof, 

Or  plunging  of  the  sea. 
That  thus  infects  me  with  the  weight 

Of  their  monotony  ? 
Why  should  I  brood  o'er  perished  things. 

And,  like  a  dotard,  dream 
Of  visions  seen  but  not  fulfilled 

Far  up  life's  whirling  stream  ? 
Man  cannot  quite  control  his  thoughts. 

Nor  keep  them  in  his  power, 
Yet  these  of  mine  have  wandered  wide 

Within  the  bypast  hour. 
What  might  have  been,  in  phantom  mist 

Has  vanished  long  ago  ; 
I  need  not  try  to  trace  it  out. 

What  was,  and  is,  I  know. 
2 


BOTUWELL.  P 

Enough  —  no  word  of  love  was  breathed 

In  Mary's  ear  by  me. 
When  most  she  needed  manly  aid, 

And  when  her  hand  was  free. 
But  Darnley  came,  and  woo'd,  and  won  ;  — 

They  say  that  death  should  close 
All  count  of  hate  and  enmity 

Between  the  deadliest  foes  — - 
And  yet —  I  will  not  forge  a  lie, 

Here  on  my  wretched  bed  — 
1  hated  Darnley  while  he  lived  ; 

I  hate  him  now,  though  dead  ! 

XVIII. 

She  wedded  Darnley  —  and  a  fool 

In  every  sense  was  he, 
With  scarce  the  wit  to  be  a  knave 

If  born  in  low  degree. 
But  folly,  when  it  walks  abroad 

In  royal  guise  and  strain, 
Will  never  lack  for  knavery 

To  loiter  in  its  train. 
Loose  comrades  of  the  baser  sort 

Were  always  by  his  side. 
To  whisper  lewdness  in  his  ear. 

And  pander  to  his  pride. 
And  men  who  wore  a  graver  mask. 

Whose  hearts  were  all  untrue. 
Essayed  —  it  was  an  easy  task  — 

To  make  hi  in  traitor  too  ! 


BOTHWELL.  27 


The  madman  !     Had  lie  only  known 

His  dutj',  style,  and  place, 
When  lifted  up  beside  the  throne, 

And  raised  to  such  a  grace  — 
Had  he  —  the  winner  of  the  prize, 

For  whose  transcendent  charms. 
If  deeds  availed,  not  idle  words. 
Through  Europe  wide,  a  thousand  lords, 
Famous  and  proud,  had  drawn  their  swords 

And  courted  death  in  arms  — 
Had  he  been  gentle,  faithful,  true. 

Kind,  courteous,  nobly-bred. 
To  her  who  found  him  fugitive. 

Yet  took  him  to  her  bed  — 
Why  then,  in  spite  of  England's  Queen, 

Of  treason  hatched  at  home. 
Of  foreign  league,  or  civil  war, 

Or  danger  yet  to  come. 
He  might  have  kept  the  foremost  place 

Without  contending  claim. 
Have  won  a  kingdom  for  his  race, 

And  left  a  glorious  name. 


Not  as  a  prince  of  high  estate 
Came  Darnley  to  the  Queen : 

His  pride  provoked  the  nobles'  hate. 
His  folly  stirred  their  spleen. 


^  BOTIIWELL.  r 

And  fiercely  blazed  Elizabeth's  wrath 

Against  the  luckless  pair, 
For  still  the  phantom  in  her  path 

Had  been  a  Scottish  heir. 
And  well  she  knew  the  ancient  strain 

That  rings  through  Scotland  free  — 
That  the  French  Queen  should  bear  the  son 

To  rule  all  Britain  to  the  sea, 
And  from  the  Bruce's  blood  should  come 

As  near  as  in  the  ninth  degree  — 
She  was  no  lioness,  bereft 

Of  cubs  by  men  unkind  ; 
Meet  partner  for  her  royal  lair 

She  sought,  but  could  not  find. 
And  it  was  more  than  gall  to  her 

To  think  that  Mary's  son 
Must  sit  one  day  upon  her  scat  — 

Must  end  what  she  begun. 
She  might  have  frowned  a  cold  consent, 

Had  Mary  stooped  to  take. 
As  spouse,  an  English  vassal  peer, 

For  her  kind  sistar's  sake. 
But  Darnley  stood  too  near  the  throne, 

And  strong  his  place  had  been. 
If  ready,  like  a  valiant  knight. 
Against  the  world  to  hold  his  right. 
And  more  —  as  love  and  honor  bade, 
To  vindicate  the  choice  she  made, 

By  duty  to  the  Queen. 


BOTHWELL.  29 


But  neither  honor,  truth,  nor  love 
Had  power  his  selfish  soul  to  move ; 
As  cold  of  heart,  as  weak  of  brain, 
Unused  his  passion  to  restrain, 
At  once  the  madman  claimed  to  be 

In  name  and  power  a  King  ! 
He,  weak  as  water,  frail  as  sand, 
A  beggar  when  on  Mary's  hand 

He  placed  the  marriage  ring  ! 
Then,  false  to  her  who  gave  him  all, 

And,  lost  to  sense  of  shame. 
He  banded  with  her  deadliest  foes 

To  stain  her  spotless  name  ! 


There  was  that  Riccio  —  sharp  and  sly, 

No  friend  of  mine,  I  swear, 
For  in  that  dark  Italian  eye 
Was  craft  beyond  my  mastery. 
And  in  his  cold  and  subtle  smile 
I  read  the  evidence  of  guile 

Was  deep  implanted  there. 
He  could  not  bend  me  to  his  will  — 

No  fanatic  was  I, 
Nor  would  I  lend  a  helping  hand 
To  rivet  on  my  native  land 

The  chains  of  Italy. 
Eight  little  cared  I  for  the  crseds 

Of  either  Church,  I  trow  ; 


30  BOTIIAVELL.  part 

I  recked  not  which  should  win  or  lose. 

And  more  —  I  reck  not  now. 
But  lost  on  me  was  all  his  speech, 

His  policy  was  vain  : 
What  was  to  me  the  Papal  cause 

In  France  or  yet  in  Spain  ? 
I  never  stood,  as  Atholl  did, 

A  soldier  sworn  of  Rome, 
Nor  asked  for  foreign  surgery 

To  stanch  the  wounds  at  home. 
Yet  Riccio  may  have  faithful  been, 

And  to  his  mistress  true, 
For  those  who  hated  him  the  worst 

Were  knaves  and  traitors  too. 
I  cannot  tell  —  but  this  I  know. 

That  till  my  dying  hour 
I  never  shall  forget  the  shriek 

That  rung  from  Mary's  bower. 

XXII. 

'Twas  night  —  mirk  night  —  the  sleet  beat  on, 

The  wind,  as  now,  was  rude, 
And  I  was  lonely  in  my  room 

In  dreary  Holyrood. 
I  heard  a  cry,  a  tramp  of  men, 

A  clash  of  steel  below. 
And  from  my  window,  in  the  court 

I  saw  the  torches  glow. 
More  common  were  such  sounds  to  mc 

Than  hum  of  evening  hymn  ; 


I.  BOTHWELL.  31 

I  caught  my  sword,  and  hurried  out 

Along  the  passage  dim. 
But  0,  the  shriek  that  thrilled  me  then  — 

The  accents  of  despair, 
The  man's  imploring  agony. 

The  woman's  frantic  prayer  ! 
"  O,  for  the  love  of  God  and  Christ, 

Have  mercy  —  mercy  —  I  ! 
O  mistress  —  Queen  —  protect  me  yet, 

I  am  not  fit  to  die  !  " 
"  O  God  !  stand  hy  me,  Darnley  —  you  — 

My  husband  !  will  you  see 
Black  murder  in  my  presence  here  ! 

O  God  !  he  turns  from  me  ! 
Back  —  villains,  back  !  you  shall  not  strike. 

Unless  you  slay  me  too. 
0  help  !  help  !  help  !  they  kill  the  Queen ! 

Help  1   blip  !     O  nobles  —  you  — 
O  Rutbven  —  Douglas  —  as  you  trust 

For  mercy  in  your  need. 
For  Christ's  dear  sake,  be  satisfied  — 

Do  not  this  monstrous  deed  ! 
I'll  yield  —  O  yes  !  I'll  break  with  France, 

Do  anything  you  will. 
But  spare  him  —  spare  him  —  spare  him,  friends  ! 

Why  should  you  seek  to  kill  ? 
O  God  !  unloose  me,  Darnley  !  shame  ! 

Let  go  my  arm,  thou  knave  ! 
To  me  —  to  me  —  all  Scottish  hearts  — 

Help  !    Murder  !     Come  and  save  !  " 


32  BOTIIWELL.  Pi 

XXIII. 

A  door  flew  wide.     I  saw  them  there  — 

Ruthvcn  in  mail  complete, 
George  Douglas,  Ker  of  Fawdonside, 

And  Riecio  at  their  feet. 
With  rapiers  drawn  and  pistols  bent, 

They  seized  their  wretched  prey  ; 
They  wrenched  her  garments  from  his  grasp. 

They  stabbed  him  where  he  lay. 
I  saw  George  Douglas  raise  his  arm, 

I  saw  his  dagger  gleam  ; 
And  then  I  heard  the  dying  yell, 

And  Mary's  piteous  scream. 
I  saw  her  writhe  in  Darnley's  arms 

As  in  a  serpent's  fold  — 
The  coward  !  he  was  pale  as  death. 

But  would  not  loose  his  hold  ! 
And  then  the  torches  waved  and  shook. 

And  louder  grew  the  din. 
And  up  the  stair,  and  through  the  doors 

The  rest  came  trooping  in. 
What  could  I  do  ?     No  time  was  that 

To  listen  or  to  wait ; 
Thronged  were  the  rooms  with  furious  men. 

And  close  beset  the  gate. 
Morton  and  Lindsay  kept  the  court. 

With  many  a  deadly  foe  ; 
And  swords  are  swift  to  do  their  work 

When  blood  begins  to  flow. 


BOmWELL,  33 

Darkling  I  traced  tlie  passage  back 

As  swiftly  as  I  came, 
For  through  the  din  that  rose  without 

I  heard  them  shout  my  name. 
Enough  !  —  that  night  one  victim  died 

Before  Queen  Mary's  face, 
And  in  my  heart,  I  doomed  that  night 

Another  in  his  place. 
Not  that  I  cared  for  Riccio's  life, 

They  might  have  Avorked  their  will  ; 
Though  base  it  was  in  men  so  high 

A  helpless  wretch  to  kill. 
But  I  had  seen  my  Queen  profaned, 

Outraged  before  my  face, 
By  him,  the  dastard,  heartless  boy, 

The  land's  and  our  disgrace. 
'Twas  he  devised  the  felon  plot  — 

'Twas  he  that  planned  the  crime  — 
He  led  the  murderers  to  her  room  — 

And  —  God  —  at  what  a  time  ! 

XXIV. 

They  call  me  savage,  brutal,  base, 

And  more  —  because  I  wed 
A  trembling,  sickly,  shrewish  dame. 

And  put  her  from  my  bed. 
Heaven  wot,  the  match  was  ill  ordained ; 

Her  heart  was  given  elsewhere, 
And  for  a  second  courtship  'i^  • 

Had  neither  time  nor  care. 


•34  BOTHWKLL. 

It  may  be  that  she  jiined  alone  ; 

It  may  be  in  my  hall 
She  met  with  ruder  company 

Than  pleased  her  taste  withal : 
I  may  have  wronged  her  by  neglect, 

I  may  have  galled  her  pride  ; 
But  never  brooked  she  scathe  or  scorn 

While  she  was  Bothwcll's  bride. 


But  he  whom  Mary's  love  had  raised 

To  such  a  high  degree, 
The  lord  and  husband  of  her  heart. 

The  father  soon  to  be. 
The  man  who,  in  the  hour  of  pain. 

Should  still  liave  kept  her  side  — 
How  paid  he  back  the  matchless  debt, 

HoAV  did  he  tend  his  bride  ? 
Why,  had  he  never  left  her  room, 

But,  like  the  grooms  of  yore. 
To  lay  him  on  the  rushes  down 

His  lady's  nest  before, 
To  guard  her  all  the  livelong  night, 

And  slumber  scarce  till  dawn, 
When  her  dear  voice,  so  low  and  sweet, 

Like  breathings  of  a  fawn, 
Told  that  the  time  of  rest  was  o'er. 

And  then  a  simple  hymn 
Arose,  as%K  an  angel  led 

The  choir  of  seraphim  — 


BOTHWELL.  iS 

Would  siicli  a  service  have  been  more 

Than  he  was  bound  to  give  ? 
Nay,  if  he  dared  to  make  it  less, 

Deserved  the  boy  to  live  ? 

XXVI. 

I  was  a  witness  on  that  night 

Of  all  his  shame  and  guilt ; 
I  saw  his  outrage  on  the  Queen, 

I  saw  the  blood  he  spilt ; 
And,  ere  the  day  had  dawned,  I  swore, 

Whilst  spurring  through  the  sand, 
I  would  avenge  that  treachery. 

And  slay  him  with  my  hand  — 
Or,  in  the  preachers'  cherished  phrase. 

Would  purge  him  from  the  land  ! 

XXVII. 

Ah  me  ;  and  this  is  Christmas  eve ; 

And  here  alone  I  lie. 
With  nothing  save  my  own  wild  thoughts 

For  bitter  company  ! 
My  own  wild  thoughts,  that  will  not  pass, 

Howe'er  I  bid  them  go  — 
My  torture,  yet  the  only  friends 

That  visit  me  below. 
Full  many  a  hearth  is  decked  to-night 

To  hail  the  blessed  morn. 
On  which,  in  ages  long  ago, 

The  Saviour  child  was  born  — 


36  BOTHWELL.  par 

The  churches  all  are  wreathed  with  green. 

The  altars  set  with  flowers, 
And  happy  lowly  hearts  wait  on 

And  count  the  passing  hours  ; 
Until  the  midnight  chimes  proclaim 

The  hallowed  season  come, 
When  Heaven's  broad  gates  are  opened  wide, 

And  Hell's  loud  roar  is  dumb. 
Then  myriad  voices  in  acclaim 

The  song  of  homage  yield. 
That  once  from  angels'  lips  was  heard 

By  shepherds  in  the  field. 
Stilled  for  a  time  are  angry  thoughts. 

The  hearts  of  men  are  mild  ; 
The  father  with  a  holier  thrill 

Bends  o'er  his  slumbering  child  ; 
New  is  the  kiss  the  husband  gives 

Unto  his  wedded  wife, 
For  earthly  love  when  blest  by  Heaven, 

Ends  not  with  earthly  life  ; 
And,  fountain-like,  o'er  all  the  world, 

Where  Christ's  dear  name  is  known. 
Leap  up  the  sounds  of  prayer  and  praise 

Toward  the  eternal  throne. 
But  I,  a  slave  in  bondage  here, 

Backed  —  torn  by  mad  despair  — 
How  can  I  falter  forth  the  words 

Of  praise  or  yet  of  prayer  ? 
Men  drove  me  from  them,  as  a  wolf 

From  mouiitaiu-folds  is  driven, 


BOTHWELL.  37 

And  what  I  could  not  win  on  earth 

How  dare  I  seek  from  Heaven  ? 
Ay,  howl  again,  thou  winter  wind  — 

Roar  louder  yet,  thou  sea  ! 
For  nothing  else  can  stun  the  thoughts 

That  rise  to  madden  me  ! 


PAllT   SECOND. 


PART     SECOND. 


The  sun  is  bright,  the  clay  is  Avarm, 

The  breeze  is  blowing  free  — 
Come,  I  will  rouse  me  from  my  lair, 

And  look  upon  the  sea  : 
'Tis  clear  and  blue,  with  here  and  there 

A  little  fleck  of  foam  ; 
And  yonder  glides  a  stately  ship, 

Bound  on  her  voyage  home. 
The  fishers,  on  the  scanty  sward. 

Spread  out  their  nets  to  dry. 
And  whistle  o"er  their  lazy  task 

In  happy  vacancy. 
Swift  by  the  window  skims  the  tern, 

On  light  and  glancing  wing, 
And  every  sound  that  rises  up 

Gives  token  of  the  spring. 
Fair  is  the  sight,  yet  strange  to  me  ; 

No  memories  I  recall, 
3 


42  BOTIIWELL. 

While  gazing  on  the  headland  cliffs, 
And  waves  that  leap  and  fall ; 

No  visions  of  my  boyish  days 
Or  manhood's  sterner  prime 

Arise  from  yonder  watery  waste. 
To  cheer  me  for  a  time. 

II, 

For  I  was  reared  among  the  hills, 

Within  a  Border  home, 
Where,  sweeping  fi"om  their  narrow  glens, 

The  mountain  toiTcnts  come  ; 
And  well  I  know  the  bonny  braes 

Where  the  first  primrose  blows, 
And  shrinking  tufts  of  violets 

Rise  from  the  melting  snows, 
Ere  yet  the  hazel  leaf  is  out. 

Or  birches  grow  their  green. 
Or,  on  the  sad  and  sullen  ash, 

A  kindling  bud  is  seen. 

0  Hermitage,  by  Liddcl's  side. 
My  old  ancestral  tower  ! 

Were  I  again  but  lord  of  thee  — 

Not  owning  half  the  power 
That  in  my  days  of  reckless  pride 

I  held,  but  cast  away  — 

1  would  not  leave  thee.  Border  keep. 

Until  my  dying  day  ! 
Wise  was  Buccleuch,  and  Cessford  too. 
Who  stoutly  held  their  own. 


EOTHWELL.  43 

And  little  cared,  amidst  their  clans, 

For  threat  from  either  throne. 
They  range  at  will  the  mountain  paths. 

They  hear  the  falcon  cry. 
And  here,  within  a  loathly  cell, 

A  fettered  slave  am  I. 

iir. 

Who  owns  thee  now,  fair  Hermitage  ? 

Who  sits  within  my  hall  ? 
What  banner  flutters  in  the  breeze 

Above  that  stately  wall  ? 
Does  yet  the  court-yard  ring  with  tramp 

Of  horses  and  of  men  ; 
Do  bay  of  hounds  and  bugle-note 

Sound  merry  from  the  glen  ? 
Or  art  thou,  as  thy  master  is, 

A  rent  and  ruined  pile. 
Once  noble,  but  deserted  now 

By  all  that  is  not  vile  ? 
What  matters  it  ?     These  eyes  of  mine 

Shall  never  see  thee  more  ; 
Still  in  my  thought  must  thou  abide 

As  stately  as  of  yore. 
When,  Warden  of  the  Marches  three, 

In  Mary's  right  I  came. 
To  still  the  raging  Border  feuds. 

And  trample  out  the  flame. 


44  BOTHWELL. 


IV. 

Good  faith  !  I  had  but  little  zeal 

To  meddle  with  the  knaves. 
Who  simply  kept  their  fathers'  rule, 

And  fought  for  bloody  graves. 
No  war  was  then  between  the  lands, 

Else  swift  and  sure,  I  ween, 
Each  Border  clan,  on  Scottish  soil, 

Had  mustered  for  their  Queen  ; 
The  tidings  of  an  English  raid 

Had  joined  them,  heart  and  hand  ; 
For  well  the  jackmen  knew  the  wealth 

Of  canny  Cumberland. 
One  note  of  war  —  and  all  the  feuds 

Had  vanished,  lilce  the  snow 
From  off  the  fells  by  Tcviot-side, 

When  the  warm  May  winds  blow. 
But  peace  abroad  breeds  feud  at  home  ; 

Old  cause  of  quarrel  rose  ; 
Clan  fought  with  clan,  and  name  with  2iame, 

As  fierce  and  deadly  foes. 
To  them  came  I  in  evil  hour  — 

Most  perilous  the  tide  ; 
For  he  who  seeks  to  part  a  fray, 

Wins  strokes  from  either  side. 
Saint  Andrew  !   'twas  no  easy  task 

To  hunt  an  Armstrong  down. 
Or  make  a  Johnstone  yield  his  sword 

At  summons  from  the  crown  : 


BOTirWELL.  45 


Yet,  ere  a  week  had  passed  away, 

One  half  my  work  was  done, 
And  safe  within  my  castle  lay 

M'hitehaugh  and  Mangerton. 
I  had  them  all  but  only  one, 

John  Elliot  of  the  Park, 
As  stalwart  and  as  bold  a  man 

As  ever  rode  by  dark. 
I  sought  him  far,  I  sought  him  near, 

He  baffled  all  my  men  : 
At  last  I  met  him,  face  to  face, 

Within  the  Billhope  glen. 


Short  parley  passed  between  us  twain  — 

"  Thou  art  the  Warden  ?  "     "  Ay  ! 
Thou  Elliot  of  the  Park  ?  "     "I  am." 

"  Wilt  yield  thee  ?  "      "  Come  and  try  ! 
We  lighted  down  from  off  our  steeds, 

We  tied  them  to  a  tree  ; 
The  sun  was  sinking  in  the  west, 

And  all  alone  were  we. 
Out  flew  the  steel ;  and  then  began 

A  sharp  and  desperate  strife. 
For  Elliot  fought  to  'scape  the  cord, 

I  fought  for  fame  and  life. 
Ha,  ha !  were  he  alive  again, 

And  on  this  dungeon  floor. 
What  joy  with  such  a  man  as  that, 

To  cross  the  sword  once  more  ! 


46  BOTHWELL.  PAR 

The  blows  he  fetched  -were  stark  and  strong. 

And  so  were  mine,  I  ween, 
Until  I  cleft  his  head-piece  through, 

And  stretched  him  on  the  green. 
"  Wilt  yield  thee  now  ?  "     "I  will  not  yield. 

But  an  ye  promise  grace." 
"  That  must  you  ask  upon  your  knee, 

Before  our  Sovereign's  face." 
Blinded  with  blood,  he  struggled  up  — 

"  Lord  Earl  !  "  he  said,  "  beware  ! 
No  man  shall  take  me  living  yet  ; 

Now  follow,  if  you  dare  !  " 
I  slipped  upon  the  broken  moss  ; 

And  in  the  shcugh  wc  rolled, 
Death-grappling,  silent,  heaving  each 

Within  the  other's  hold. 
He  passed  above  me,  and  I  felt  — 

Once  —  twice  —  his  dagger  drive  ; 
But  mine  went  deeper  through  his  breast  — 

I  rose,  but  half  alive  ! 
All  spun  around  me  —  trees  and  hills  — 

A  mist  appeared  to  rise  ; 
Yet  one  thing  saw  I  clearly  yet 

Before  my  fading  eyes  : 
Not  half  a  rood  beyond  the  burn, 

A  man  lay  stiff  and  stark  : 
I  knew  it  was  my  stubborn  foe, 

John  KUiot  of  the  Park. 
1  strove  in  vain  to  sound  my  horn, 

No  further  strength  had  I  ; 


BOTHAVELL. 

And  reeling  in  that  lonely  glen, 
I  fell  —  but  not  to  die. 

TI. 

I  Avakened  in  tlie  Hermitage 

Up  from  my  heavy  swound. 
Thanks  to  the  leech,  who  would  not  cease 

From  probing  of  my  wound  : 
And  there  I  lay,  for  many  a  day. 

Weak,  wearied,  dull,  and  wan. 
With  little  blood  within  my  veins, 

To  make  me  feel  like  man. 
In  sooth,  it  was  a  heavy  time  — 

I  heard  the  bugles  blow. 
The  horses  neigh,  the  bridles  ring. 

The  soldiers  come  and  go. 
I  heard  the  voice  of  Ormiston, 

In  short  and  gruff  command. 
As  outwards  from  the  castle-gate 

He  led  his  trooper  band. 
Then  silence  ;  and  that  hateful  sound. 

The  leech's  stealthy  tread  — 
Aha !  when  I  had  strength  to  stir, 

How  swift  the  villain  fled  ! 
Then  the  long  shades  of  afternoon  — 

The  twilight  fastening  in  — 
The  night,  when  still  I  heard  the  brook 

Come  roaring  down  the  linn. 
Strange  !   that  my  memory  should  recall 

Those  distant  things  to  view  — 


48  BOTHWELL. 

That  every  sound,  and  sight,  and  thought, 

Should  visit  me  anew  ! 
Have  I  not  heard  a  hundred  times 

The  winter  tempests  roar, 
Since  first  they  spread  that  wretched  bed 

Here,  on  the  dungeon  floor  ? 
Have  I  not  heard  the  ocean-surge 

Come  boUowing  to  the  strand. 
When  peals  of  thunder  shook  the  heaven, 

When  flashed  the  levin  brand  ? 
The  hurleys  that  might  wake  the  dead, 

Pass  from  me  with  their  rage  ; 
Not  so  the  sounds  that  reached  my  bed 

In  lonely  Hermitage. 

TII. 

But  0,  that  day,  when  first  I  rose, 

A  cripple,  from  my  lair  — 
Threw  wide  the  casement,  breathed  my  fill 

Of  fresh  and  wholesome  air  — 
Drank  in  new  life,  and  felt  once  more 

The  pulse's  stirring  play  — 
(),  madly  in  my  heart  is  writ 

The  record  of  that  day  ! 
I  thought  to  hear  the  gorcock  crow, 

Or  ouzel  wliistle  shrill, 
When,  lo  !  a  gallant  company 

Came  riding  up  the  hill. 
No  banner  was  displayed  on  high, 

No  sign  of  war  was  seen, 


BOXHWELL.  49 

Xo  armed  band,  with  spear  and  brand, 

Encompassed  Scotland's  Queen. 
She  came,  on  gentle  errand  bound  — 

The  bounteous  and  the  free  — 
She  came  to  cheer  her  wounded  knight, 

She  came  to  smile  on  ine. 

VIII. 

She  waited  not  for  guard  or  groom, 

But  passed  into  the  hall ; 
Around  her  were  the  four  Maries, 

Herself  the  rose  of  all. 
I  never  thought  that  woman's  voice 

Could  thrill  my  being  so. 
As  when  she  thanked  me  for  my  zeal 

In  accents  soft  and  low. 
I  saw  the  tear  within  her  eye, 

"When,  bending  down  to  me. 
She  placed  her  lily  hand  in  mine. 

And  bade  me  quit  my  knee. 
"  Dear  lord,"  she  said,  "  'tis  woman's  right 

To  comfort  when  she  may  ; 
Then  chafe  not,  if  we  take  by  storm 

Your  Border-keep  to-day. 
We  come  not  to  invade  your  hall, 

Or  rudely  mar  your  rest ; 
Though  well  I  know,  at  fitter  time, 

I  were  a  welcome  guest. 
But  could  I  quit  the  Border-side 

Without  my  thanks  to  him 


50  BOTIIWELL. 

Who  paid  his  service  far  too  well, 

At  risk  of  life  and  limb  ? 
Ah,  Bothwell !  you  have  bravely  done, 

And  all  my  thanks  are  poor ; 
Would  God  that  more  were  bent  like  you 

To  make  my  throne  secure  ! 
True  heart  !  strong  arm  !  I  cannot  place 

A  chaplct  on  your  brow, 
For  the  old  laws  of  chivalry 

Are  dead  and  vanished  now  ; 
But,  trust  me,  never  was  a  Queen 

More  debtor  to  a  peer, 
Than  I,  brave  Earl,  am  proud  to  own, 

Before  the  presence  here  ! 
How  say  you,  brother  ?  " 


At  the  word, 

I  felt  a  sudden  chill  ; 
I  knew  not  Murray  as  he  rode 

Beside  her  up  the  hill. 
I  marked  him  not  within  my  hall  — 

No  wonder,  for  my  eye 
Was  fixed  on  one  bright  form  alone 

Of  all  that  company  ! 
But  there  he  stood,  the  iiulseless  man. 

The  calculating  lord. 
Swart  in  the  Congregation's  garb, 

And  Icaninif  on  his  sword. 


BOTinVELL.  51 

By  heaven  !    I  wished  that  on  his  face 

I  could  have  traced  a  sneer  — 
Right  swiftly  had  I  paid  it  back ; 

But  all  was  calm  and  clear  : 
Softly  he  spoke,  but  what  he  said 

Dwelt  not  within  mine  ear. 
Some  phrase  it  was  of  mild  assent, 

Framed  in  that  glossy  speech 
Which  statesmen  use  to  cozen  fools, 

And  bring  them  to  their  reach  ; 
Some  staid  and  studied  compliment, 

As  soft  and  cold  as  snow  — 
I  would  not,  after  fiery  fight, 

Have  thanked  a  trooper  so  ! 
And  then  he  paused,  and  glancing  round 

Upon  the  royal  train, 
Began  to  falter  forth  excuse. 

Like  one  who  spoke  in  pain. 
Why  Darnley  came  not  with  the  Queen  — 

How  could  the  fool  be  there  ? 
Had  he  not  left  his  Sovereign's  Coiu't, 

Despite  her  tears  and  prayer  ?  — 
Left  her,  with  base  unmanly  threat, 

Alone  to  weep  and  pine ; 
That  he  might  lie  in  harlots'  laps, 

And  hiccup  o'er  his  wine  ? 


Well  know  I  now  what  Murray  meant, 
But  then  I  did  not  care  — 


52  EOTIIWELL. 

The  siglit  of  Darnley  iu  my  hall 

Had  darkened  all  the  air. 
In  sooth,  I  wished  them  far  away, 

The  Maries,  and  the  rest, 
That  I  might  throw  me  at  her  feet. 

Might  ease  my  bursting  breast, — 
Might  tell  her  how  I  came  to  love, 

And  how  I  hid  my  flame, 
Till  he,  the  wretched  perjured  boy, 

Had  filled  his  cup  with  shame  — 
Might  ask  her  of  her  sovran  grace, 

To  take  and  keep  my  vow. 
To  rule  James  Hepburn's  heart  and  hand, 

Not  give  him  promise  now  — 
One  word,  one  little  word  of  hope 

"Was  all  he  dared  to  crave,  — 
Hope  ?     There  was  none  in  store  for  me, 

Till  Darnley  filled  his  grave  ! 


O  keenly  do  I  know  the  spell 

That  turned  weak  Arran's  brain. 
That  drove  the  luckless  Chastellar 

To  love  and  die  in  vain. 
With  tenfold  power  that  mighty  charm 

Was  stirring  in  my  soul  ; 
Though  she  had  spurned  me  from  her  feet, 

I  must  have  spoke  the  whole. 
Far  better  had  I  told  her  all, 

And  waked  at  once  her  scorn, 


BOTHM^ELL. 


Than  brood  o'er  passions  ill-concealed. 

And  wait  for  crimes  imborn. 
Unborn,  but  yet,  alas  !  conceived  — 

Well  —  well !  what  recks  it  now  ? 
A  child  might  weep,  and  moan,  and  fret, 

That  yonder  glorious  bow, 
Which  right  before  me  spans  the  seas, 

Should  melt  in  mist  and  rain  : 
What  is  it  but  a  pageantry 

That  will  not  come  again  ? 
Yea,  let  it  pass  with  other  things, 

Old  hope,  and  thought,  and  fear ; 
All  these  are  phantoms,  dead  and  gone, 

They  shall  not  force  a  tear  ! 

XII. 

Bright  was  the  morn,  and  fresh  the  wind. 

And  clear  the  trumpet's  call, 
As,  strong  once  more  in  heart  and  limb, 

I  issued  from  my  hall. 
A  hundred  troopers,  cased  in  mail, 

Were  mounted  on  the  sward ; 
Men  who  would  ride  through  steel  and  flame 

At  signal  of  their  lord. 
The  knaves  !  I  know  they  loved  me  well  ; 

And  Avhat  a  wild  acclaim 
Rang  through  the  valley,  up  the  glen, 

To  greet  me  as  I  came  ! 
Then  spears  were  raised,  and  swords  were  swung. 

And  banners  tossed  on  high, 


54  BOTHWELL. 

In  sucli  a  storm  of  wild  delight. 
As  drives  men  onward  to  the  fight, 

For  death  or  victor}-  ! 
The  blood  was  warm  within  me  then, 

And  prondly  did  it  bound, 
As,  clad  again  in  knightly  garb, 

I  wheeled  my  charger  rountl  ; 
O'er  moss  and  moor,  o'er  hill  and  heath, 

Right  gallantly  we  sped. 
Until  we  paused  and  drew  the  rein 

Hard  by  the  river's  head.     • 
Backward  on  Castle  Hermitage 

One  lingering  look  I  cast ; 
I  saw-  it  in  its  strength  and  pride  — 

That  look,  it  was  the  last. 


Men  say  that  in  those  northern  seas, 

Far  out  from  human  view. 
There  lies  a  huge  and  whirling  pit, 
As  deep  as  though  the  globe  were  split, 

To  let  the  w^aters  through  ; 
All  round  and  round  for  many  a  mile 
Spreads  the  strong  tide's  resistless  coil  ; 
And  if  a  ship  should  chance  to  pass 

Within  the  Maelstrom's  sweep. 
Nor  helm  nor  sail  will  then  avail 

To  drive  her  through  the  deep. 
Headlong  she  rolls  on  racing  w-avcs, 

iStill  narrowing  in  her  round, 


EOTHWELL. 

Still  drawn  towards  the  awful  brim 

Of  that  abj-ss  profound. 
Then  one  sharp  whirl,  one  giant  surge, 

A  lurch,  a  plunge,  a  yell, — 
And  down  forever  goes  the  ship 

Into  the  raging  hell ! 
God  wot,  I  am  not  fanciful ; 

But  from  that  fatal  da)% 
When  first  I  leagued  with  other  men, 

And  left  my  open  way, 
No  power  had  I  to  check  my  course, 

No  will  to  pause  or  stay. 
They  knew  that  I  was  proud  and  bold. 

And  foremost  still  would  go. 
Where  danger  waited  in  the  path, 

Nor  ever  count  the  foe. 
And  they  had  read  my  secret  heart, 

And  set  their  cunning  snare  ; 
O,  had  my  only  thought  been  love, 

They'd  not  have  bound  me  there  ! 

xiy. 

But  there  was  hatred  in  my  soul ; 

And  more,  that  glorious  sin, 
Ambition,  cursed  by  all  who  lose, 

No  crime  for  those  who  win. 
What  sceptre  ever  yet  was  gained 

Without  the  reddened  hand  ? 
Light  penance  serves  to  cleanse  the  stain 

From  those  who  rule  a  land. 


56  BOTHWELL. 

Hero,  and  king,  and  conqueror  — 

So  ring  the  changes  here, 
For  those  ^vho  rise  by  any  art, 

No  matter  what  they  were  ! 
Wretch,  villain,  traitor,  regicide  — 

These  arc  the  counter-names 
For  men  whom  fortune  sets  aside, 

However  bold  their  aims. 
I  would  not  care  for  vulgar  speech  ; 

But,  O,  it  drives  me  wild 
To  know  that  cold  and  reckoning  knaves 

Have  swayed  me  like  a  child. 
Tell  me  no  more  of  guilt  and  shame  ! 

'Tis  worse  to  be  a  fool, 
To  play  the  subtler  traitors'  game. 

Their  partner  and  their  tool ! 

XV. 

'Twas  in  Ciaigmillar's  ancient  pile 

That  first  I  lent  my  ear 
To  the  dark  words  of  Lethington, 

With  Murray  bending  near. 
The  theme  was  Darnley  and  his  deeds. 

His  vain  capricious  mind. 
That  no  controlling  power  could  guide 

Or  sense  of  honor  bind  ; 
His  wild  outrageous  insolence 

To  men  of  high  degree. 
Who,  but  for  Mary's  love  and  grace, 

Were  higher  far  than  he. 


BOTHWELL. 

All  this  I  heard,  and  answered  not ; 

But  when  he  came  to  speak 
Of  Mary's  wrongs,  and  Mary's  woes, 

The  blood  was  in  my  cheek. 
He  told  me  of  her  breaking  heart, 

Of  bitter  tears  she  shed, 
Of  the  sad  cry  she  raised  to  heaven, 

"  O  God  !   that  I  were  dead  !  "  — 
Of  that  dull  grief  which,  more  than  pain, 

Has  power  to  waste  and  kill  ; 
Yet  in  her  secret  heart,  he  said, 

Queen  Mary  loved  him  still. 


"  Loves  him  r  "  "  Why,  ay  !  Our  thought  was  b3at. 
At  first,  on  Darnley's  banishment ; 
On  loosing  of  the  nuptial  tie. 

As  holy  Church  allows  — 
An  easy  thing,  for  never  yet 

Was  such  a  faithless  spouse  — 
But  when  v.'e  broke  it  to  the  Queen, 

She  would  not  deign  to  hear ; 
He  was  the  father  of  her  child. 

And  so  to  her  was  dear. 
What  then  is  left  ?     While  Darnley  lives 

As  king  within  the  land, 
Whate'er  his  insolence  may  be, 

He  holds  us  at  command. 
Why,  even  you,  brave  Earl,  so  high 

In  honor  and  in  place, 
4 


58  BOTKAA'ELL.  pari 

You  —  Warden  —  Admiral  —  must  bend 

Before  his  Royal  Grace  ! 
Nay,  chafe  not  at  my  open  speech  : 

For  more  have  felt  the  wrong, 
And,  trust  me,  will  not  stoop  to  wear 

Those  galling  shackles  long. 
My  Lord  of  Murray  stands  prepared 

To  aid  us,  heart  and  hand; 
Your  brother  Huntley,  and  Argyie 

Arc  eager  for  the  Baud. 
You  know  their  strength  :   yet  more  remains  ; 

The  banished  lords  are  ours  — 
Lindsay  and  Morton,  were  they  here, 

Would  help  us  with  their  powers. 
In  evil  hour,  in  evil  cause. 

They  lent  weak  Darnley  aid ; 
Persuaded  by  his  lying  tongue, 

With  treason  foul  repaid. 

XVII. 

"  Surely  'tis  time  to  stanch  the  wounds 

Tliat  vex  the  land  so  sore, 
To  knit  the  noble  brotherhood 

As  closely  as  of  yore  ; 
To  curb  the  wild  fanatic  mood 

That  waxes  day  by  day, 
And  make  the  surly  preachers  know 

Their  duty,  to  obey  ! 
But  for  one  plague-spot  in  the  land. 

Our  course  were  phiin  and  clear; 


BOTHWELL.  59 

If  Scotland's  nobles  back  their  Queen, 

What  foemen  need  they  fear  ? 
No  more  will  we  of  foreign  league 

Or  foreign  wedlock  hear  ! 
A  better  husband  for  the  Queen 

We'll  find  among  our  own  : 
A  champion,  able,  like  the  Bruce, 

To  take  and  keep  the  throne  ! 
More  might  I  saj' ;  but,  valiant  Earl, 

On  you  our  fate  depends  ;  — 
Speak  but  the  word,  give  but  the  sign, 

And  round  us  throng  our  friends. 
Scotland  is  weary  of  the  load 

That  lies  upon  her  now. 
And  Death  is  breathing,  cold  and  damp. 

Upon  our  Sovereign's  brow. 
This  is  the  stalwart  arm  we  need 

To  save  the  State  and  Queen, 
Your  own  brave  blood  was  freely  shed 

For  Mary,  on  the  green  — 
But  Darnley's  !  —  for  one  drop  of  yours 

His  life  were  all  too  mean." 


Fve  heard  that  poison-sprizikled  flowers 

Are  sweeter  in  perfume 
Than  when,  untouched  by  deadly  dew. 

They  opened  in  their  bloom  ; 
I've  heard  that  men,  condemned  to  die, 

Have  quaff"cd  the  fatal  wine 


'''•  BOTIIAVELL.  PAiir  i- 

With  keener  relish  than  the  juice 

Of  the  untanipered  vine  ; 
I've  heard  that  with  the  witches'  song, 

Though  harsh  and  rude  it  be, 
There  blends  a  wild  mysterious  strain 

Of  weirdest  harmony, 
So  that  the  listener  far  away 

Must  needs  approach  the  ring, 
Where,  on  the  savage  Lapland  moors, 

The  demon  chorus  sing. 
And  I  believe  the  devil's  voice 

Sinks  deeper  in  the  ear. 
Than  any  whispers  sent  from  heaven, 

However  soft  and  clear. 
Yes  !  I  was  cozened,  cheated,  led  — 

No  beast  more  blindly  goes 
Towards  the  shambles,  than  I  went 

When  flattered  by  my  foes  ! 
Flattered  —  and  bribed !  Ay,  that's  the  word  — 

No  need  to  hide  it  now  — 
Bribed  by  the  proffer  of  a  crown 

To  glitter  on  my  brow ! 
O  never  let  the  man  of  deeds. 

Though  strong,  and  bold,  and  brave. 
Though  he  has  shaken  thrones  like  reeds, 

Try  issue  with  a  knave  ! 
Might  is  no  match  for  studied  craft. 

Which  makes  the  best  its  thrall : 
When  earth  is  mined  beneath  his  feet, 

The  champion  needs  must  fall. 


BOTnWELL.  (il 


XIX. 

Now,  were  a  reverend  father  here  — 

For  such  there  are,  I  know, 
Good  men  and  true,  who  preach  the  word. 
Without  invokmg  fire  and  sword 

To  la}'  the  temples  low  — 
Men  who  proclaim  their  mission,  peace  ; 

And  count  it  worse  than  shame, 
To  shed  their  doctrines  forth  like  oil 

Upon  a  land  in  flame  — 
Had  I  such  ghostlj'  counsellor, 

He'd  tell  me  straight  to  throw 
All  angry  feelings  from  my  breast, 

To  bless  my  deadliest  foe  ; 
To  pray  for  that  same  Leth'ington ; 

To  raise  my  heart  to  heaven. 
And  supjilicate  that  Murray's  soul 

May  not  depart  unshriven. 
Nay  —  more  than  that  —  for  Morton's  weal 

My  prayer  must  also  rise  : 
A  proper  instrument  Avere  I 

To  lift  him  to  the  skies  ! 
The  older  faith  enjoined  a  mass, 

A  requiem  to  be  said 
Above  the  bier,  or  for  the  sake 

Of  any  foeman  dead. 
That  may  be  priestcraft  —  i"dle  sound, 

As  modern  preachers  say, 


62  BOTHWELL. 

A  lie,  that  neither  saint  in  heaven, 

Nor  guard  on  hell,  obey. 
But  to  forgive  them,  while  they  live  ; 

To  breathe  a  prayer  for  them, 
The  traitors  who  have  robbed  their  Queen 

Of  state  and  diadem  — 
Have  shut  her  in  a  lonely  isle, 

To  pine,  and  waste,  and  die  — 
A  prayer  for  villains  such  as  these 

Were  insult  to  the  sky  ! 


I  yielded  ;  for  the  deed  proposed 

Was  nothing  new  or  strange. 
Though  ne'er  a  Lord  in  Scotland  stirred. 
My  purpose,  oath,  and  secret  word 

Had  known  nor  check  nor  change. 
Men  feel  by  instinct,  swift  as  light, 

The  presence  of  the  foe, 
Whom  God  has  marked,  in  after  years 

To  strike  the  mortal  blow  ; 
The  other,  though  his  brand  be  sheathed 

At  banquet  or  in  hall. 
Hath  a  forebodement  of  the  time 

When  one  or  both  must  fall. 
That  bodement  darkened  on  my  soul 

When  first  I  set  my  eye 
On  Darnley  in  his  trim  attire, 
All  youth,  and  mirth,  and  hope,  and  fire, 

A  blazoned  butterfly. 


EOTHWELL.  63 

Metho'igbt  I  saw,  like  northern  seers 

When  shadowed  by  the  cloud, 
Around  his  pomp  and  bravery 

The  phantom  of  a  shroud  : 
It  chilled  me  then,  it  haunts  me  now  — 

Let  this  at  least  be  said. 
No  thought  of  slaughter  crossed  my  mind 

Till  David  Riccio  bled. 
Then  I  was  free  to  do  and  dare ; 

And  often  in  a  dream. 
When  through  the  corridors  of  sleep 

Rang  Mary's  piercing  scream, 
The  scene  would  change  from  Holyrood 

To  some  sequestered  glen. 
Where  I  and  Darnley  met  alone. 

Apart  from  other  men. 
How  often  have  we  twain  been  thrown 

In  death-lock  on  the  sand, 
Eye  fixed  on  eye,  breath  meeting  breath, 

And  steel  in  either  hand  ! 
And  I  have  wakened,  panting  sore, 

My  forehead  wet  with  dew, 
More  shaken  by  the  fancied  strife 

Than  any  that  was  true. 

XXI. 

They  prate  of  murder  —  'tis  a  word 

Most  odious  to  the  ear, 
Condemned  alike  by  God  and  man : 

But  peer  may  meet  with  peer. 


64  BOTHWELL.  part  i 

If  laggard  laws  delay  redress 

For  insult  or  for  wrong, 
There  is  no  arbiter  like  steel 

So  ready  and  so  strong. 
Then  they  contend  on  equal  ground, 

And  equal  arms  they  wield ; 
What  does  the  knight  or  captain  more 

Who  strikes  in  tented  field  ? 
And  —  by  the  sun  that  shines  above  I  — 

Had  fate  ordained  it  so, 
That  I  and  Darnlcy  might  have  met, 

In  combat,  foe  to  foe. 
One  half  my  life,  when  life  was  prized, 

Were  ransom  all  too  poor, 
For  one  bare  hour,  'twixt  dawn  and  mirk. 

Of  combat  on  the  moor  ! 

XXII. 

But  kings  —  forsooth,  they  called  him  King  I  — 

Are  now  content  to  clain^ 
Exemption  from  the  knightly  rule. 

And  skidk  behind  their  name. 
They  are  not,  as  in  Arthur's  days. 

When  chivalry  began. 
Prompt  to  repel  the  accuser's  voice, 

And  meet  him,  man  to  man. 
They  are  not  valiant  like  the  Bruce, 

That  fearless  prince  and  knight. 
Aye  ready  with  his  stalwart  hand 

To  justify  his  right  — 


BOTHWELL.  r».5 

Xot  valiant,  as  was  royal  James, 

Who  died  on  Flodden  field, 
The  best  and  bravest  of  his  race, 

Unknowing  how  to  yield. 
They  sit  behind  their  silken  screens. 

And  fence  them  with  their  guard. 
Their  archers  and  their  bandoleers. 

Like  women  kept  in  w  ard. 
No  reckoning  give  they  for  their  deod^ 

Whatever  those  may  be  — 
Too  high  was  Darnley  in  his  place 

To  measure  swords  with  me. 
I  hold  the  creed  that  earthly  wrong 

On  earth  must  be  repaid  ; 
And,  if  the  battle  be  denied, 
And  law  is  drugged,  and  stupefied. 

Why  —  vengeance  comes  in  aid  ! 


What  else  ?     I  care  not  for  the  talss 

I  heard  in  earlier  years. 
Which  my  old  teacher  strove  to  thrust 

In  most  unwilling  ears  ; 
Of  Greeks  —  I  think  he  called  them  that 

W^hose  weapon  was  the  knife, 
Who  for  some  wretched  servile  cause 

Let  out  a  tyrant's  life  — 
Of  Rom.ans,  nearer  to  our  times. 

Who  butchered  Ctcsar  so  — 


66  BOTHWELL.  P- 

Base  villain  churls,  who  Avrcaked  tlioir  hate 
On  one  so  high,  and  grand,  and  great, 

Because  they  stood  so  low ! 
When  perfect  nohleness  remains 

To  fence  a  royal  crown  ; 
When  honor,  faith,  and  chivalry 

Are  prized  beyond  renown  ; 
When  God's  vicegerents  on  the  earth 

Know  how  to  rule  and  shine, 
With  splendor  as  becomes  their  place.  — 

Then  is  their  right  divine. 
But  Darnley  —  fie  !  why  speak  of  him 

As  royal,  brave,  or  leal  ? 
He  was  an  adder  in  my  path  — 

I  crushed  him  witli  my  heel ! 

xxir. 

'Tis  strange  what  freaks  the  fancy  plays, 

When  sense  is  shut  by  sleep ; 
How  a  vague  horror  thrills  the  frame, 

And  awful  sounds  and  deep 
Boom  on  the  ear,  as  if  the  earth 

Moaned  in  her  central  caves 
Beneath  the  weight  of  buried  men, 

And  stirred  them  in  their  graves  ! 
That  night,  as  on  my  bed  I  lay, 

The  terror  passed  on  me  ; 
It  Avrung  my  heart,  it  froze  my  blood, 

It  forced  my  eyes  to  sec 


BOTHWELL.  67 

The  spectral  fire  upon  the  hearth, 

The  arras'  stiffened  fold, 
The  gaunt,  mute  figures  on  its  web, 

In  tarnished  silk  and  gold,  — 
All  there  —  no  motion  —  but  a  step 

Was  creaking  on  the  stair ; 
It  made  me  pant,  it  made  me  gasp  — 

Who  was  it  sought  me  there  ? 
I  saw  my  sword  beside  the  bed, 

I  could  not  stretch  mj-  arm  — 
I  could  not  stir,  I  could  not  cry, 

I  lay  beneath  a  charm. 
The  door  swung  slowly  on  its  hinge, 

And  in  a  figure  came. 
In  form  and  face  like  Lethington, 

Most  like,  yet  not  the  same. 
Those  were  his  eyes  that  glared  on  mine. 

But  in  them  was  a  gleam 
That  burned  like  fire  into  my  brain  ; 

I  felt  them  in  my  dream. 
And  thus  he  spoke,  in  Maitland's  voice, 

But  deeper  far  than  he  :  — 
"  Rise  up.  Lord  Bothwell,  from  thy  bed, 

Rise  up,  and  follow  me  !  " 

XXV. 

I  rose,  but  not  as  men  arise 

At  hasty  call  or  loud  ; 
I  rose  as  rigid  as  a  corpse 

Swathed  in  its  burial-shroud. 


68  BOTH  WELL. 

Spell-bound  I  stood  upon  the  floor, 

Bereft  of  power  or  will, 
For  well  I  knew,  where'er  he  went, 

That  I  must  follow  still. 
Then  up  the  stair  he  led  the  way, 

By  winding  steps  and  steep. 
Out  to  the  topmost  battlement 

Of  old  Craigmillar's  keep. 
The  moon  was  down,  but  myriad  stars 

Were  sparkling  in  the  sky  — 
"  Behold  !  "  he  said,  and  raised  his  hand 

They  seemed  to  wane  and  die. 
They  passed  from  out  the  firmament. 

Deep  darkness  fell  around  — 
Darkness,  and  horror  as  of  hell, 

And  silence  most  profound. 
No  wind,  no  murmur,  breath,  nor  stir, 

'Twas  utter  blankness  all. 
As  though  the  face  of  God  were  hid, 

And  heaven  were  wrapped  in  pall. 

XXVI. 

"  Behold  again  !  "  the  deep  voice  said. 

And  straight  arose  a  spire 
Of  lurid,  red,  and  dismal  light. 
Between  me  and  the  mountain  height, 

A  peak  of  wavering  fire  : 
Above  it  was  a  kingly  crown  — 

Then  sounded  in  my  car, 
"  That  glorious  prize  may  be  thine  own  I 


BOTHAVELL.  69 

Nor  only  that,  but  honor,  power. 
Beauty,  and  love  —  a  matchless  dower  — 

Dominion  far  and  near  ! 
All  these  await  thee,  if  thy  heart 

Is  tempered  like  thy  steel, 
Keen,  sharp,  and  strong,  and  prompt  to  strike  — 

To  strike,  but  not  to  feel ! 
That  crown  was  won  by  valiant  Bruce, 

He  gained  it  by  the  blow 
That  on  the  slippery  altar-steps 

Laid  the  Red  Comyn  low ; 
He  won  and  wore  it  as  a  king, 

And  thou  may'st  win  it  now  !  " 


I  spoke  not,  but  he  heard  my  thought  :  — 

"  Well  done,  thou  dauntless  peer  ! 
I  love  the  brave  and  venturous  will 

That  knows  nor  ruth  nor  fear ! 
Come,  then,  I  swear,  by  yonder  fire  — 

An  oath  ne'er  broke  by  me  — 
That  thou  shalt  sit  in  Darnley's  place 

When  Darnley  dies  by  thee  ! 
Away  that  pageant !  "  —  Spire  and  crown 

Shut,  like  the  lightning's  leap  ; 
But  overhead  a  meteor  came, 
Slow-moving,  tinging  with  its  flame 

The  murky  clouds  and  deep  ; 


70  BOTIIAVELL. 

It  shed  a  glare  on  Arthur's  Scat, 
It  widened  like  a  shield, 

And  burst,  in  thunder  and  in  fire. 
Above  the  Kirk-of-Field. 


/ 


PART   TIIIllD. 


FART    THIRD. 


I. 

That  gaoler  hath  a  savage  look  — 

Me  thinks  I  see  a  change  : 
For  three  long  years,  within  this  room, 
That  man  has  been  my  only  groom, 

And  yet  his  voice  is  strange. 
He  brings  me  food,  he  smooths  my  bed, 

Obedient  to  my  sign  ; 
But  still  his  moody  eye  falls  down. 

And  will  not  answer  mine. 
I  had  the  art,  in  former  days. 
To  win,  by  short  familiar  phrase, 

The  rudest  hearts  alive,  — 
To  bring  the  wildest  to  my  side. 
And  force  them,  in  the  battle-tide, 

Like  thorough  fiends  to  strive. 
When  Warden,  I  have  rode  alone, 

Without  a  single  spear  to  back. 
The  marches  through,  although  I  knew 

That  spies  were  prowling  on  my  track ; 
5 


BOTHAVELIi.  tai 

I've  passed  into  the  midst  of  clans 

So  fierce  and  Avild,  that,  undismayed, 
They  would  have  risen,  sword  in  hand. 

Had  the  Queen's  standard  heen  displayed : 
But  never  did  I  meet  Avith  one, 

Trooper  or  jackman,  groom  or  knave, 
But  to  the  ready  fearless  call 

A  frank  and  fearless  answer  gave. 

II. 

This  fellow  scowls  as  if  in  hate ; 

I've  marked  upon  his  brow  a  scar. 
More  like  the  hideous  galley-brand 

Than  any  wound  from  broil  or  war. 
Either  he  is,  in  mind  and  sense. 

Far  duller  than  a  Lothian  boor. 
Or  there's  a  plot  against  my  life, 

And  he's  the  man  to  make  it  sure ! 
I  never  hear  him  at  the  door, 

When  fumbling  with  his  heavy  keys. 
But  something  warns  me  to  beware. 

Reminding  me  that  sounds  like  these 
Were  heard  by  llothsay,  Scotland's  heir. 

In  Falkland's  dungeon  deep  ; 
When,  mad  with  famine  and  despair, 

He  started  from  his  sleep. 
To  sec  the  butchers  usher  in 

That  terrible  repast. 
The  black  bull's  head,  the  awful  sign 

Of  death,  to  follow  fast ! 


I 


BOTHWELIi. 

Slave  that  he  is  !    I've  strength  enough 

To  brain  him  at  a  blow  : 
But  Danish  laws,  they  say,  are  hard ; 
And  scarcely  might  a  man  in  ward 

Deal  with  his  gaoler  so. 
The  churl  is  better  than  the  peer, 

Because  the  churl  is  free  ; 
But  should  a  gesture  rouse  suspect. 

Let  him  beware  of  me  ! 

III. 

Is  this  indeed  a  warning  voice 

That  croaks  within  my  ear  ? 
Or  is  it  guilt  that  frames  the  thought, 

And  fashions  it  to  fear  ? 
I'd  have  it  so  —  I'll  so  believe  ! 

These  terrors  are  no  more 
Than  the  wild  blasts  that  conseience  drives ; 

And  though  they  shake  me  sore, 
I'll  hold  them  empty,  vain,  and  false, 

Nor  so  demean  my  place, 
As  tremble  at  a  clown's  approach, 

Or  deign  to  watch  his  face ! 

IT. 

Come  —  I  will  far  away  from  hence  — 

I  cannot  tarry  here  : 
Whate'er  the  penance,  I  must  forth, 

And  quit  this  dungeon  drear  ! 


76  BOTHWELL. 

Man  lives  not  for  the  single  point 

That  marks  the  passing  time  ; 
He  lives  in  thoughts  and  memories 

Of  glory  or  of  crime. 
And  1  will  back  —  and  bravely  back, 

To  that  tremendous  night 
When  the  whole  state  of  Scotland  reeled, 

And  Darnley  took  his  flight. 
That  which  I  did,  nor  shrunk  to  do, 

I  may  at  least  recall ; 
If  spectres  rise  from  out  the  grave, 

I  dare  to  face  them  all ! 


High  mirth  there  was  in  Holyrood, 

As  fitted  nuptial  scene. 
For  on  that  day  Sebastian  wed 

The  favorite  of  the  Queen. 
All  Scotland's  nobles  graced  the  feast, 
And  ever  passed  the  ready  jest, 
Though  some  had  secrets  in  their  breast 

That  might  have  marred  their  sport. 
But  in  a  time  when  all  men  lied, 
Nor  trusted  neighbor  by  their  side. 
Deceit  was  more  than  justified  ; 

And,  truly,  of  that  Court, 
I  doubt  if  there  was  any  there, 
Who  showed  in  face  or  mien  a  care. 
Save  Mary.     But  her  cheek  was  pale, 
Sad  was  her  smile  at  jest  or  tale  ; 


BOTHWELL. 

And  though  she  strove  to  bear  her  part, 

She  could  not  so  devise, 
But  that  the  anguish  of  her  heart 

Came  glistening  to  her  eyes. 

VI. 

Yes,  when  she  looked  upon  the  pair 
So  fondly  placed  together  there. 
Loving  and  loved,  without  a  thought 

Beyond  their  present  bliss  and  joy, 
All  hope,  all  trust,  all  happiness, 

All  faith,  without  alloy  ; 
I  saw  her  strive  to  hide  her  tears  — 
I  am  no  gentler  than  my  peers ; 
Nor  could  I,  in  the  general  case. 

Divine  why  women  weep  and  wail, 
But  gazing  on  Queen  Mary's  face, 

I  saw  the  cause,  and  could  not  fail. 
She  thought  her  of  the  marriage-feast 

When  Darnley  was  the  chosen  groom, 
When,  trusting  to  his  vows  and  faith, 

She  gave  herself,  in  beauty's  bloom. 
When  she  was  radiant,  as  the  bride. 

And  he  was,  as  the  lover,  gay ; 
Alas  !  there  rolled  an  awful  tide 

Between  that  time  and  this  to-day ! 
Short  interval ;  yet  where  was  he, 

The  partner  of  her  bed  and  throne, 
The  chief  of  all  her  chivalry  ? 

A  wretched  leper,  and  alone  ! 


78  BOTHWELL. 

Stricken,  and  sick,  and  ill  at  case. 
Worn  out  witli  base  debaucheries, 

Her  lord  once  more  was  nigh ; 
Broken  in  body  and  in  mind  — 
A  wretch,  who  paradise  resigned. 

To  wallow  in  a  sty  ! 


YII. 

How  she  endured  him,  after  all 

His  foulness  and  his  insolence. 
Puzzles  my  mind  —  but  let  it  fall ! 

God  gave  to  woman  gentler  sense 
And  sweeter  temper  than  to  man  ; 

And  she  will  bear,  like  penitence, 
A  load  that  makes  the  other  ban. 
Saint-like  she  tarried  by  his  side. 

And  soothed  his  torment  day  by  day  ; 
And  though  her  grief  she  could  not  hide. 

No  anger  did  her  look  betray. 
Now,  in  the  midst  of  mirth  and  song, 

Her  loving  nature  did  not  yield. 
And  every  moment  seemed  too  long 

That  kept  her  from  the  Kirk-of-Field. 
Early  she  gave  the  wonted  sign 

In  token  that  the  feast  was  done  ; 
Her  place  was  then  by  Darnlcy's  bed, 

Till  the  late  revelry  begun. 
And  I,  like  her,  had  reckoned  time, 

And  might  not  longer  tarry  there ; 


BOTHWELL.  79' 

For  the  wild  impulse  to  a  crime 

Hath  all  the  urgence  of  despair. 
I  knew  her  errand,  and  my  own  ! 

I  knew  them  both  but  far  too  well  — 
Hers  was  the  thorny  path  to  heaven, 

And  mine  the  road  that  ends  at  hell ! 

VIII. 

Well  I  remember  how  my  heart 

Beat  as  I  oped  the  postern-door  ; 
My  foot  upon  the  threshold  stayed, 

I  scarce  had  power  to  venture  o'er  ! 
The  night  was  dark ;   a  heavy  mist 

Came  creeping  upward  from  the  sea,  — 
"  Who  waits  there  ?     Bolton  —  Talla  —  hist  ! '" 

And  straight  they  glided  up  to  me, 
"  Is  all  prepared  ? speak  soft  and  low." 

"  All  ready  !  we  have  sent  the  men. 
As  you  appointed,  to  the  place  : 

French  Paris  waits  for  them  ;  but  then  " 

"  What  then  ?     Come  farther  from  the  wall  — 

Give  me  your  hand.     Why,  Hay,  'tis  cold  : 
Poor  lad,  it  shakes !     Take  courage,  man  ! 

I  know  that  you  are  stout  and  bold. 
But  the  first  venture  ever  frays. 

Your  fortune's  mine,  in  woe  or  weal  ; 
Here  is  my  cousin,  Bolton,  now  — 

His  heart,  I'll  swear,  is  firm  as  steel  ! 
Where  left  ye  Ormiston  ?  "      "  At  home  ; 

And  it  were  best  to  seek  him  straight, 


80  BOTIIWKLL. 

Else  we  may  chance  to  lack  his  aid, 
If  j^uards  arc  at  the  city  gate  ! " 

IX. 

"  What  mean  you,  kinsman  ?     Ormiston ! 

Surely  he  will  not  fail  me  now  ?  " 
"  I  meant  not  that :   he  will  not  fail, 

If  he  be  fit  to  plant  a  blow. 
But  never  saw  I  him  so  strange  : 

He  thinks  Earl  Morton  has  designed 
To  place  us  in  the  foremost  range. 

And  keep  himself  and  his  behind. 
And  —  you  must  pardon  me,  my  Lord  — 

But,  if  it  be  not  now  too  late 
To  pause  on  what  we  have  resolved, 

'Twere  Avise,  methinks,  awhile  to  wait. 
The  promised  succor  has  not  come  ; 

There  are  no  horsemen  near  the  place  ; 
Our  scouts  hear  nothing  ;   all  is  dumb, 

And  'tis  long  past  the  trysting  space. 
I  would  some  other  hands  than  ours 

Were  busied  with  the  work  to-night ! 
Though  Morton  tarries  in  his  towers, 

His  men,  at  least,  should  be  in  sight : 
Else  how  shall  we  escape  the  charge 

That  needs  must  lie  against  us  here. 
When  no  proved  enemy  at  large 

Has  crossed  the  country,  far  or  near  ? 
Throughout  the  land  is  Morton  known 

As  faithless,  ever  prone  to  guile  ; 


BOTHAVELL.  81 

Yea,  there  arc  some  who  hold  his  frown 

In  far  less  terror  than  his  smile. 
A  rival  never  brooked  he  yet, 

You  stand  too  nearly  in  his  way. 
And  ancient  feud  hath  left  a  debt 

Of  hate  that  he  will  foully  pay. 
Trust  not  the  Doujjjlas  !  " 


X. 

"  By  my  soul  — 

But  that  I've  seen  thy  mettle  tried  — 
I'd  say,  John  Hepburn,  it  was  fear 

That  makes  thee  swerve  and  start  aside  ! 
Content  thee,  man  !     I  trust  him  not ; 

He  dares  not  challenge  what  we  do  : 
Look  fortune  in  the  face  —  be  bold, 

And  thou  shalt  rise  to  honors  new. 
It  is  too  late  to  pause  or  wait ; 

To-night  or  never  is  the  time  : 
Let  Morton  shrink  and  hesitate, 

The  gain  is  ours,  he  shares  the  crime. 
But  what  of  Ormiston  ?  "     "  He  waits  ; 

But  if  you  seek  his  help  to  gain, 
'Twere  well  that  we  made  better  speed, 

The  wine-cup  may  have  drenched  his  brain. 
You  know  his  mood  when  sore  perplexed"'  — 

"  What !  makes  he  revelry  to-night  ? 
Come  quickly,  Bolton  —  Talla,  come  : 

Is't  not  that  entry  on  the  right  r  " 


<S2  BOTIIWELL.  PARI 

We  found  him  graithed  in  steel  array  — 

O,  often  yet  I  think  of  him  ! 
The  strongest  warrior  of  his  day, 

A  giant  both  in  thewes  and  limb. 
He  was  my  friend,  my  father's  too ; 

But  he  is  dead  —  nor  only  he, 
For  the  black  gibbet  was  the  doom 

Of  every  man  who  stood  by  me  ! 
Well,  well !  God  sain  them  —  sain  them  all  I 

If  what  they  died  for  was  a  crime, 
Death  was  atonement :  for  the  rest 

I'll  answer  in  the  coming  time, 
As  I  must  answer. 

XI. 

"  Ormiston  !  " 

"  Welcome,  Lord  Earl !  Aha  !  you  look 
As  though  you  doubt  my  jirudence  sore ; 

John  Hepburn,  here,  as  from  a  book, 
Hath  preached  to  me  an  hour  and  more  ! 
He  would  have  beaten  Knox  or  Craig, 

Had  he  been  for  the  puljiit  bred  ; 
Ihit  —  to  be  honest  —  I  required 

Some  little  fire  to  warm  my  head  — 
To  still  my  doubts  —  and  that  is  done. 

For  surely,  when  a  man  is  led. 
His  mind  should  be  his  leader's.     Mine 

Is  all  made  up  and  fortified  ; 
I  mean  to  action  for  to-night  — 

Beyond  it  'tis  for  you  to  guard. 


BOTHWELL.  B3 

You  need  not  look  for  Morton's  aid, 
He'd  spring  you  with  your  own  petard. 

But  what  of  that  ?  the  way  is  clear, 
Lacks  nothing  but  a  willing  hand  ; 

And  Onniston  is  ready  here 

To  move  or  strike  at  your  command." 

XII. 

"  That's  well !     Then  instant  to  our  work ! 

I  must  away  to  Kirk-of- Field  : 
You,  Ormiston,  be  near  the  port, 

And  keep  the  troopers  close  concealed 
Till  the  guard  passes  with  the  Queen : 

Then  fence  the  road  from  every  spy. 
Bolton,  see  you  the  powder  laid, 

And  do  it  quick  and  carefully  : 
Paris  awaits  to  let  you  in 

By  the  back  entrance :   take  good  heed 
That  nothing  fails  ;  let  no  man  speak  — 

No  noise,  no  sound  ;  but  make  you  speed. 
All  must  be  ready,  ere  the  train 

Moves  back  for  Holyrood  to-night  — 
Then  nothing  need  we,  but  a  spark. 

To  set  the  state  of  Scotland  right ! 
You,  Talla,  as  my  squire  shall  go  ; 

Cleave  to  the  officer  on  guard. 
Be  frank  and  free  with  him  below ; 

To-night  no  license  is  debarred. 
Keep  your  brow  smooth ;  be  wild  in  speech, 

But  do  not  wander  with  your  eye ; 


Hi  BOTIIAVELL.  PA.-r  iii 

Your  part  should  bo  an  easy  one  — 

'Tis  but  the  face  of  revelry ! 
And  now  let's  forth.     Nay,  Ormiston  ! 

No  further  pledges  —  set  it  past : 
The  draught  that  steeled  you  to  the  deed 

Must  be,  for  all,  to-night  the  last. 
If  we  succeed  in  this  emprise  — 

As,  by  my  soul,  succeed  we  must  — 
Enough  of  space  we'll  have  for  mirth ; 

And  those  who  give  to  me  their  trust 
In  this  high  juncture,  surely  know 

That  Bothwell  leaves  no  debt  unpaid, 
To  friend,  to  kinsman,  or  to  foe  !  " 

XIII. 

I  stood  that  night  in  Darnley's  room, 

Above  the  chamber  charged  with  death  ; 
At  every  sound  that  rose  below 

There  was  a  catching  in  my  breath. 
The  aspect  of  the  boy  was  sad. 

For  he  was  weak,  and  wrung  with  pain ; 
Weary  he  lay  upon  the  bed. 

From  which  he  never  rose  again. 
I  saw  his  brow  so  pale  and  damp, 

I  saw  his  cheek  so  thin  and  spare  — 
I've  seen  it  often  since  in  dreams  — 

O  wherefore  did  I  seek  him  there  ? 
He  lay,  indeed,  a  dying  man, 

His  minutes  numbered,  marked,  and  spanned 


BOTHWELL.  S-) 

"With  every  ticking  of  the  clock 

There  fell  a  priceless  grain  of  sand. 
Yet  over  him  an  angel  bent. 

And  soothed  his  pain,  and  wiped  his  brow  — 
So  fair,  so  kind,  so  innocent, 

That  all  hell's  tortures  to  me  now 
Could  scarce  be  worse  than  what  I  felt 

Within  that  thrice-accursed  room  ! 
No  heart  so  hard  that  will  not  melt 

When  love  stands  weeping  o'er  the  tomb. 
O  had  I  hellebore  for  that  — 

That  one  damn'd  hour  !  —  I'd  count  me  blest ; 
So  would  I  banish  from  my  couch 

The  direst  phantom  of  unrest ! 

XIT. 

Time  trickled  on.     I  knew  'twas  done, 

When  Paris  entered  with  the  key  — 
I'd  listened  for  his  foot,  as  one 
Upon  the  rack  might  hail  the  tread 
Of  the  grim  goaler  of  the  dead, 

Yet  loathsome  was  his  face  to  me  ! 
He  looked  a  murderer ;   not  for  hate 

Envy,  or  slight,  or  other  cause, 
By  which  the  devil,  or  his  mate, 

Tempts  man  to  spurn  his  Maker's  laws  — 
But  from  that  hideous  appetite. 

That  lust  for  blood,  that  joy  in  sin, 
Which  shows  the  instinct  of  the  wolf, 

And  ravins  on  the  heart  within. 


86  BOTIIAVELL.  P-ii 

Let  no  man  seek  to  gain  his  end 

By  felon  means  !     I  never  felt 
So  like  a  slave,  as  when  he  passed, 

And  touched  the  key  beneath  his  belt  I 
For  in  his  glance  I  read  the  thought  — 

"  Lord  Bothwell !  ever  from  this  hour, 
Though  you  be  great,  and  I  am  nought. 

Your  life  and  fame  are  in  my  power  !  " 
Ah !  shame  that  I  should  now  recall 

The  meaner  feelings  of  that  time. 
The  splinters  and  the  accidents 

That  flash  from  every  deed  of  crime  ! 
Shame,  that  a  face  like  his  should  rise 

To  gibber  at  me  even  now. 
To  scare  me  with  his  hateful  eyes. 

And  beckon  from  the  gulf  below ! 
What  recks  it  how  a  caitiff  ends  ? 

If  Murray  paid  him  with  a  cord. 
Why  let  his  spectre  haunt  the  friends 

Who  did  not  deem  him  worth  the  sword  I 
No  more  of  that  !  —  The  Queen  arose, 

And  we,  her  nobles,  stood  aloof 
Until  she  parted  from  her  spouse, 

And  then  we  left  the  fated  roof. 

XV. 

"  Back,  back  to  Holyrood  !  away  !  " 

Then  torches  flashed,  and  yeomen  came, 

And  round  the  royal  litter  closed 
A  gleaming  zone  of  ruddy  flame. 


BOTHWELL. 

I  have  slight  memory  of  that  walk  — 

Argyle,  I  think,  spoke  earnestly 
On  state  affairs,  but  of  his  talk 

Not  any  word  remains  witli  me. 
We  came  to  Holyrood  ;  and  soon 

A  gush  of  music  filled  the  hall  ; 
The  dance  was  set ;   the  long  saloon 

Glowed  as  in  time  of  carnival : 

0  hateful  to  me  was  the  sound, 
And  doubly  hateful  was  the  light ! 

1  could  not  bear  to  look  around, 

I  longed  to  plunge  into  the  night. 
A  low  dull  boom  was  in  mine  ear, 

A  surging  as  of  waters  pent  ; 
And  the  strained  sense  refused  to  hear 

The  words  of  passing  merriment. 
What  if  that  Babel  should  be  stilled, 

Smote  dumb,  by  one  tremendous  knell  ? 
What  if  the  air  above  were  filled 

With  clanging  from  the  clocks  of  hell  r 
Yet  waited  I  till  all  was  o'er ; 

The  bride  withdrew,  the  masque  was  done  ; 
And  as  I  left  the  postern-door. 

Dully  the  palace  bell  struck,  One ! 

XVI. 

I  heard  a  sermon  long  ago, 
Wherein  the  preacher  strove  to  show 
That  guiltiness  in  high  or  low 
Hath  the  like  touch  of  fear ; 


88  BOTIIWELL. 

And  that  the  knight  who  sallies  furth, 
Bent  on  an  action  of  iin worth. 
Though  he  be  duke  or  belted  earl. 
Feels  the  same  tremor  as  the  churl 

Who  steals  his  neighbor's  gear. 
I  held  his  words  for  idle  talk, 

And  cast  them  from  my  view  ; 
But,  in  that  awful  midnight  walk, 

I  felt  the  man  spake  true. 


I  heard  the  echo  of  my  foot, 

As  up  the  Canongatc  I  sped, 
Distinct,  as  though  in  close  pursuit 

Some  spy  kept  even  with  my  tread. 
Or  did  I  run,  or  did  I  pause, 

The  sound  was  ever  bickering  near ; 
And  though  I  guessed  full  Avell  the  cause, 

I  could  not  free  myself  from  fear. 
I  almost  stumbled  in  the  dark 

Upon  a  houseless,  vagrant  hound, 
And  his  sharp  snarl,  and  sudden  bark, 

Made  my  heart  leap,  and  pulses  bound. 
Wherever  there  were  lights  on  high, 

Methought  there  stood  some  watcher  pale  • 
Long  shadows  seemed  to  flitter  by, 

I  heard  low  voices  mourn  and  wail. 
And  I  could  swear  that  once  I  saw 

A  phantom  gliding  by  the  place 


HI.  BOTHWELI.  89 

Where  then  I  stood.     I  shook  with  awe  — 

The  face  was  like  my  mother's  face, 
When  last  I  saw  her  on  her  bier ! 

Are  there  such  things  ?  or  does  the  dread 
Of  coming  evil  craze  our  fear, 

And  so  bring  up  the  sheeted  dead? 
I  cannot  tell.     But  this  I  know, 

That  rather  than  endure  again 
Such  hideous  thoughts,  I'd  fight  the  foe, 
And  reckon  with  them,  blow  for  blow. 

Though  I  were  one,  and  they  were  ten ! 

XVIII. 

I  passed  beyond  the  city  wall ; 

No  light  was  there  in  hut  or  bield, 
I  scarce  could  find  the  narrow  lane 

That  led  me  to  the  Kirk-of-Field. 
Three  men  were  speeding  from  the  door; 

They  ran  against  me  in  the  way  — 
"  Who's  that  ?  "  "  'Tis  I ! "  "  Lord  Bothwell  ?  Back, 

Back,  back  —  my  Lord  !  make  no  delay  ! 
The  doors  are  locked,  the  match  is  fired  — 

A  moment  more,  and  all  is  done  — 
Let's  'void  the  ground  ! "   "  He  sleeps  then  sound }  " 

"  Within  that  house  shall  waken  none  !  " 
Shortly  we  paused  ;  I  strained  my  sight 

To  trace  the  outline  of  the  pile  ; 
But  neither  moon  nor  stars  gave  light, 

And  so  we  waited  for  awhile. 
6 


90  BOXHWELL. 


Down  came  the  rain  with  steady  pour, 

It  splashed  the  pools  among  our  feet ; 
Each  minute  seemed  in  length  an  hour. 

As  each  went  by,  yet  uncomplete. 
"  Hell  !  should  it  fail,  our  plot  is  vain  ! 

Bolton  —  you  have  mislaid  the  light ! 
Give  me  the  key  —  I'll  fire  the  train. 

Though  I  be  partner  of  his  flight !  " 
"  Stay,  stay,  my  Lord !  you  shall  not  go  ! 

'Twcre  madness  now  to  near  the  place ; 
The  soldiers'  fuses  burn  but  slow  ; 

Abide,  abide  a  little  space  ! 
There's  time  enough  " 


He  said  no  more. 

For  at  the  instant  flashed  the  glare, 
And  with  a  hoarse  infernal  roar 

A  blaze  went  up  and  filled  the  air ! 
Rafters,  and  stones,  and  bodies  rose 

In  one  thick  gush  of  blinding  flame. 
And  down,  and  down,  amidst  the  dark. 

Hurtling  on  every  side  they  came. 
Surely  the  devil  tarried  near. 

To  make  the  blast  more  fierce  and  fell. 
For  never  pealed  on  human  ear 

So  dreadful  and  so  dire  a  knell. 


BOTHWELL.  91 

The  heavens  took  up  the  earth's  dismay. 

The  thunder  bellowed  overhead  ; 
Steep  called  to  steep.     Away,  away  !  — 

Then  fear  fell  on  me,  and  I  fled. 
For  I  was  dazzled  and  amazed  — 

A  fire  was  flashing  in  my  brain  — 
I  hasted  like  a  creature  crazed, 

Who  strives  to  overrun  his  pain. 
I  took  the  least-frequented  road, 

But  even  there  arose  a  hum ; 
Lights  showed  in  every  vile  abode, 

And  far  away  I  heard  the  drum. 
Roused  was  the  city,  late  so  still ; 

Burghers,  half  clad,  ran  hurrying  by, 
Old  crones  came  forth,  and  scolded  shrill. 

Men  shouted  challenge  and  reply. 
Yet  no  one  dared  to  cross  my  path, 

My  hand  Avas  on  my  dagger's  hilt ; 
Fear  is  as  terrible  as  wrath. 

And  vengeance  not  more  fierce  than  guilt. 
I  would  have  stricken  to  the  heart 

Whoever  should  have  stopped  me  then ; 
None  saw  me  from  the  palace  part, 

None  saw  me  enter  it  again. 
Ah !  but  I  heard  a  whisper  pass, 

It  thrilled  me  as  I  reached  the  door  — 
"  Welcome  to  thee,  the  knight  that  was. 

The  felon  now  for  evermore  !  " 


PART  POURTH. 


PART     FOURTH. 


I. 

What  is  a  woman's  weakest  mood  ? 

Is  it  when  some  bold  flatterer  speaks  ; 
When  honied  words,  scarce  understood, 

Call  up  the  color  to  her  cheeks  ? 
When  the  dropt  eye  and  heaving  breast 

Are  tell-tales  of  the  tempter's  power  ? 
Ill  bodes  it  for  the  maiden's  rest 

Who  lends  her  ear  at  such  an  hour ! 
Thus  simple  damsels  may  be  wooed, 

So  doubtless  they  may  be  betrayed ; 
'Tis  the  old  courtshfp  still  pursued 

By  lovers  in  the  forest  glade, 
But  flattery  cannot  sway  the  mind 
That's  noble,  constant,  and  resigned. 


In  the  old  tales  of  chivalry 

There  lies  more  trvith  than  priests  allow  ; 


96'  BOTUAVELL.  Pj 

Valor,  and  strength,  and  courtesy. 

Have  power  to  make  the  haughtiest  bow. 
The  knight  who  by  his  single  arm 

Could  free  a  lady  from  duresse, 
And  break  the  fell  magician's  charm, 

Had  claim  upon  her  loveliness  : 
Although  the  daughter  of  a  king 

She  might  not  spurn  his  homage  fair, 
And  proud  was  she  in  listed  ring. 

To  see  him  with  her  colors  there. 
Rare  thoughts  are  these  for  one  disgraced, 

A  slave  in  body,  racked  in  soul !  — 
My  blazon  has  been  long  erased, 

My  name  struck  off  the  knightly  roll ! 
But  what  of  that  ?     The  time  has  been 

When  I  was  highest  of  the  high  — 
Yea,  was  the  husband  of  a  Queen  ; 

And  so  they  shall  not  pass  me  by. 
Good  men  and  brave  may  be  forgot, 

The  tomb  may  hide  their  dust  and  fame, 
But  while  there  breathes  on  earth  a  Scot, 

He'll  hear,  at  least,  of  BothwcU's  name  ! 


Yet,  when  the  awful  deed  was  done. 
And  Mary's  burst  of  grief  was  by, 

Of  all  who  stood  around  the  throne, 
Was  none  in  closer  trust  than  I. 

My  front  was  calm,  my  speech  was  clear, 
I  did  not  overact  my  part, 


BOTHAVELL.  97 

Nor  feign  a  sorrow,  too  severe, 

For  one  I  never  loved  at  heart : 
Intent  I  seemed  to  find  and  trace 

The  bloody  authors  of  the  crime ; 
But  rumor  hath  a  headlong  pace. 

And  would  not  tarry  for  my  time. 
Whispers  ai'ose,  not  loud,  but  strong, 

That  I  was  privy  to  the  deed ; 
The  rabble,  when  I  passed  along. 

Regarded  me  with  sullen  heed  ; 
A  madman  paced  the  streets  by  night, 

Invoking  vengeance  from  on  high. 
Till  the  scared  women  in  affright. 

Believed  they  heard  a  spirit  cry. 
Each  Sabbath-day  the  pulpits  rung 

With  texts  on  murder  ill-concealed, 
And  pictures  on  the  Cross  were  hung 

Of  him  who  died  at  Kirk-of- Field. 

IV. 

My  name  was  bruited.  —  Well  I  know 

Who  set  the  bloodhounds  on  my  track ; 
But  Morton,  though  my  deadliest  foe, 

Dared  not,  as  then,  to  cheer  the  pack. 
Had  I  been  such  a  knave  as  he, 

I  might  at  once  have  eased  my  breath, 
And  made  my  name  forever  free. 

By  charging  him  with  Darnley's  death. 
Ay,  without  falsehood  in  my  heart ; 

For,  when  I  went  at  break  of  day. 


Il8  BOTHWELL. 

To  search  the  ruins,  far  apart 

The  unscathed  corpse  of  Darnley  laj'. 
No  mark  of  fire  was  on  the  dead, 

Unsinged  his  cloak  of  velvet  fine ; 
If  he  were  murdered  as  he  fled, 

It  was  not  done  hy  me  or  mine ! 
And  none  save  Douglas  knew  the  hour 

When  the  old  roof  should  whirl  in  aii- ; 
He  swore  to  aid  me  with  his  power  — 

It  may  be  that  his  men  were  there. 


But  rumor  is  a  reckless  fire, 

Which,  kindled  once,  is  sure  to  spread, 
And,  raging  in  its  frantic  ire, 

Spares  not  the  living  or  the  dead. 
An  ember  dropped  upon  the  waste. 

Swells  to  a  blaze  that  wraps  the  hill, 
And  onward  rush  the  flames  in  haste, 

Ascending,  striding,  bickering  still ; 
They  reach  the  wood,  they  spare  it  not,  — 

The  forest  roars  and  crashes  down,  — 
The  red  surge  breaks  on  tower  and  cot, 

Homestead  and  village,  church  and  town. 
And  rumor  did  not  spare  a  name 

That  should  have  been  from  tarnish  free  ; 
No  saint  in  heaven  was  less  to  blame 

For  wretched  Darnley's  death  than  she  ! 


BOIHWELL.  '■  99 

Fling  forth  a  lie  amongst  the  crowd, 

Let  but  the  preachers  vouch  'tis  true  — 
And  innocence  may  buy  her  shroud, 

And  guilt  go  forth  in  garments  new ! 
They  said  she  did  not  mourn  him  long  — 

What  cause  had  she  to  mourn  at  all  ? 
His  life  had  been  a  course  of  wrong, 

A  hideous  shadow  on  her  wall. 


Why  mourn  ?     Because  the  man  Avas  dead 

Who  brought  his  ruffians  to  her  room, 
And  held  her  struggling,  while  they  shed 

The  life-blood  of  her  favorite  groom  — 
Who  trafficked  with  her  darkest  foes, 

Heaped  insult  on  her  and  despite, 
Fled  from  the  Court  to  herd  with  those 

Whose  baseness  was  his  foul  delight? 
Why,  I  have  heard  old  Knox  protest. 

Men  should  not  mourn  for  those  they  love. 
Since  earthly  mourning  is,  at  best, 

Defiance  to  the  will  above. 
He  cited  David,  who  arose 

And  washed  his  face  and  tasted  bread, 
Things  he  omitted  in  his  woes. 

Until  he  knew  his  child  was  dead. 
And  so,  because  in  quietness 
Her  secret  soul  she  did  possess. 
Because  she  did  not  feign  despair, 
Nor  beat  her  breast  nor  rend  her  hair. 


100  BOTIIWELL.  Pil 

Nor  give  superfluous  sorrow  breath  — 
Because  no  vain  and  false  parade, 
Or  frantic  show  of  grief  was  made, 

They  taxed  her  with  her  husband's  death ! 


Ha,  ha !     Their  folly  was  my  shield, 

A  buckler  between  me  and  shame ; 
For  what  belief  could  Mary  yield 

To  felons  who  abused  her  name  ? 
She,  in  her  perfect  innocence, 

Despised  the  foul  and  recreant  lie, 
That,  without  semblance  of  pretence, 

Had  swollen  into  a  common  cry. 
They  dared  to  charge  her  —  her,  their  Queen  — 

With  guilt  so  monstrous  of  its  kind, 
That,  granting  she  had  only  been 

In  knowledge  of  the  deed  designed, 
The  gates  of  heaven  had  shut  for  aye 

Against  her  penitence  and  prayer, 
Angels  had  loathed  her  in  their  sky. 

And  left  her  to  her  soul's  despair ! 

vrii. 

Yea,  men  had  loathed  her  !     I  myself, 
The  devil's  bondsman,  though  alive. 

Whom  not  for  charity  nor  pelf 

The  meanest  priest  that  crawls  would  shrive  — 

I  would  not,  though  she  brought  a  crown. 
Have  ta'en  a  murderess  to  my  bed  ; 


BOTHWELL.  101 

The  Borgia  won  such  wide  renown 

As  well  might  warn  a  pillowed  head !  — 
But,  fie  on  me,  to  mix  the  name 

Of  one  so  tainted  and  so  vile 
With  hers,  the  pure  and  spotless  Dame 

Who  tarries  in  Lochleven's  isle  ! 
Her  noble  soul  that  knew  no  taint. 

Was  far  too  trusting  and  sincere ; 
She  was,  in  purity,  the  saint. 

With  all  that  makes  the  woman  dear. 
And  when  I  pass  before  the  Throne, 

To  reckon  for  my  deeds  on  earth; 
When  every  secret  crime  is  known. 

And  every  thought  that  gave  them  birth ; 
I'll  answer  truly  for  my  Queen, 

What  she,  in  error,  did  for  me ; 
And,  though  a  gulf  lie  broad  between, 

I'll  vouch  her,  as  an  angel,  free  ! 


Yet  who  accused  me  ?     Not  my  peers  ; 

They  one  and  all  were  dumb  as  death  — 
'Twere  shame  to  think  that  doubts  or  fears 

Could  make  them  draw  a  bated  breath  ! 
If  some  were  mingled  in  the  plot. 

And  far  too  well  the  secret  knew, 
Yet  more  there  were  who  loved  me  not, 

Brave  lovds  and  valiant,  tried  and  true, 
Boyd  —  Seton  —  Herries  — none  stood  forth, 
Nor  any  knight  of  fame  and  worth  ; 


102  BOTH"\V£LL.  P 

Only  old  Lennox,  half  distraught 

With  sorrow  for  his  slaughtered  son, 
Gave  utterance  to  the  people's  thought, 

And  craved  that  justice  should  be  done. 
Ready  was  I  to  stand  the  test, 

To  bide  the  sentence  of  the  law  ; 
Its  terrors  did  not  mar  my  rest, 

Nor  make  me  thrill  with  guilty  awe. 
My  witnesses  were  clothed  in  steel. 

They  tarried  for  me  in  the  street ; 
Old  Ijcnnox  failed  in  his  appeal, 

And  my  acquittal  was  complete. 
Then,  as  is  wont,  I  caused  proclaim  — 
If  any  dared  impeach  my  name, 
Or  charge  me  with  a  murder  stain 
Upon  my  hand  for  Darnley  slain. 
So  that  he  were  of  like  degree. 
He  had  my  challenge,  fair  and  free  — 
In  guarded  lists,  or  open  heath, 

I'd  meet  him  as  a  knight. 
And  do  stark  battle  to  the  death  — 

Might  God  defend  the  right ! 

X. 

O  liar  that  I  was,  and  mad, 

In  such  wild  manner  to  blaspheme ! 

Not  mine  the  faith  that  Morton  had, 
Who  held  salvation  but  a  dream. 

Never  I  doubted,  from  the  first. 
The  judgment  of  a  God  on  high  ; 


BOTHWELI,.  103 

And  if  I  be  by  Him  accursed, 

I  know  what  waits  me  when  I  die. 
I  will  not  stupefy  my  soul  — 

Wretch  as  I  am  —  with  false  belief; 
Or  think  that  death  must  close  the  whole 

Account  of  anguish  and  of  grief. 
How  could  I  hope  to  win  in  fight  — 

The  utterer  of  so  foul  a  prayer? 
How  'scape  the  overwhelming  might 

I  had  invoked  to  crush  me  there  ? 


Still,  no  one  came  to  lift  my  gage  ; 

The  law  declared  me  free  from  taint 
What  cared  I  for  the  preachers'  rage  ? 

I  let  them  chafe  without  restraint. 
The  burghers  might  receive  their  tale, 

But  dared  not  mutter  it  again  — 
Too  many  spears  from  Liddesdale 

Were  daily  moving  in  my  train. 
Enough  for  me  that  I  was  clear  ; 

I  thought  to  let  the  storm  pass  by ; 
For  railing  soon  fatigues  the  ear, 

When  no  one  will  vouchsafe  reply. 

XII. 

And  I  had  much  to  meditate. 

Darnley  no  longer  stopped  my  way  ; 
The  Queen  was  free  to  choose  a  mate, 

I  might  not  dally  nor  delay. 


104  BOTHAVELL, 

Yet  all  unequal  was  our  lot : 

She  was  a  widow,  I  was  wed  — 
Poor  Lady  Jcau !     I  loved  her  not, 

Yet  never  wished  her  with  the  dead. 
She  was  a  vixen  from  her  birth. 

Ready  with  tears,  of  temper  keen. 
But  though  she  often  stirred  my  mirth, 

She  never  waked  a  touch  of  spleen. 
Divorce  was  easy.     She  and  I, 

Like  ill-assorted  birds,  could  part 
Without  a  ceremonial  sigh, 

Or  fiction  of  an  aching  heart. 
But  Mary  —  how  would  she  receive 

A  suit  so  strange  and  bold  as  mine  ? 
Had  I  but  ventured  to  believe 

That  worship  at  so  fair  a  shrine, 
So  mutely  offered  and  so  long, 

Could  not,  at  least,  unnoticed  be. 
My  courage  then  had  been  more  strong, 

My  speech  more  unrestrained  and  free. 

xiir. 
Often  I  strove  to  speak  my  mind. 

As  often  did  I  swerve  aside  ; 
For,  though  her  eyes  were  ever  kind. 

She  had  her  share  of  queenly  pride. 
Her  nature  was  too  great  and  high 

To  listen  to  a  lover's  vow.s. 
Ere  on  her  check  the  tears  were  dry 

She  gave  to  her  departed  spouse. 


BOTHWELL.  105 

And  therefore,  in  uncertain  mood. 

Aimless,  perplext,  I  lingered  on. 
Until  one  day,  at  Holyrood, 

My  path  was  crossed  by  Lethington. 
He  met  me  with  a  meaning  smile 

That  almost  deepened  to  a  sneer, 
I  knew  the  man  was  steeped  in  wile. 

And  yet  I  thought  his  words  sincere. 


"  Lord  Earl,"  he  said,  "in  days  of  old. 
As  I  have  heard  the  story  told. 
There  reigned  a  king  in  Lydian  land 

Who  had  a  beauteous  wife  ; 
But  kings  right  seldom  understand 
The  worth  of  that  which  they  possess. 
And  this  weak  monarch's  shamelessness 

Cost  him  his  crown  and  life. 
I  need  not  now  the  tale  rehearse. 
For  still  it  lives  in  minstrel's  verse  ; 

This  only  shall  I  say. 
That  he  who  'venged  the  lady's  wrong 
Was  far  too  wise  to  tarry  long 

Before  he  claimed  the  sway. 
Trust  me,  when  fortune  beckons  on, 
And  danger  in  the  path  is  none, 

'Tis  madness  to  delay  !  " 


106  BOTH  WELL. 


"  You  speak  in  riddles  !  "     "  Surely  no  ; 

Is  not  my  meaning  broad  and  clear  ? 
Look  but  around  —  where  breathes  the  foe 

Whose  hatred  you  have  cause  to  fear  ?  " 
"  Ay,  but  the  Queen  !     'Twere  doubly  base 

For  me  to  press,  as  yet,  my  claim  ; 
To  urge  her  to  her  own  disgrace, 

And  taint  her  honor  and  her  fame. 
I  stand  suspected  :  even  here 

Men  deem  me  guilty  of  the  sin  ; 
And  though  their  tongues  are  bound  by  fear, 

I  know  what  thoughts  they  keep  within. 
England  abhors  me.     England's  Queen 

Detests  the  man  she  could  not  buy  : 
Yes  !  there  had  less  of  rancor  been, 

"Were  I  a  caitiff  and  a  spy  ! 
Now  —  say  that  I  advanced  my  suit, 

And  Mary  yielded  me  her  hand. 
Would  not  rebellion  start  to  foot. 

And  treason  rage  throughout  the  land  .* 
Her  foes  could  find  no  better  proof 

Of  all  that  slander  dared  to  say. 
And  honest  men  would  stand  aloof. 

And  friends  draw  from  her  in  dismay  !  " 

XVI. 

"  Yea  —  does  your  foresight  reach  so  far  ? 
Men  deemed,  Lord  BothwcU,  you  were  born 


BOTHWEIL.  107 

Beneath  a  rash  and  fiery  star 

That  ever  prompted  you  to  scorn 

All  prudent  counsel.     You  have  worn 
Right  well  the  mask ;  but  now  I  see, 
You  are  as  wise  in  policy 
As  swift  in  action  —  list  to  me. 
How  stand  you  at  the  present  hour  .'' 
The  first  in  place,  the  first  in  power ! 
No  other  noble  in  the  land 
Hath  such  a  wide  and  strong  command. 
Singly  you  might  defy  them  all, 
If  they  were  leagued  to  work  your  fall ; 
And  yet  the  first  and  greatest  Lords 

Are  pledged  your  honor  to  maintain, 
And  they  are  ready  with  their  swords 

To  prove  they  did  not  swear  in  vain. 
"What  you  have  risked  for  them  they  know ; 

All  were  approvers  of  the  deed ; 
Nor  is  there  one  so  mean  and  low 

As  leave  you  in  the  hour  of  need,  — 
So  it  is  now ;  but  v^ho  dare  say 
To-morrow  shall  be  like  to-day  ? 
A  common  danger  keeps  us  bound, 

That  past,  the  league  will  sunder  quite. 
New  foes  will  rise  as  from  the  ground, 

New  perils  hover  into  sight. 
Oh,  then  take  heed,  lest,  being  strong. 

You  count  too  much  upon  ycur  power ; 
Occasion  never  proffers  long. 

It  comes  and  passes  in  an  hour  !  " 


108  BOTHAVELL.  PAR' 

XVII. 

"  Truce  with  thy  proverbs,  man !  they  fill 

With  sound,  and  nothing  else,  mine  car  — 
Speak  of  the  Queen,  —  her  royal  will 

Must  surely  count  for  something  here  ?  " 
"  My  Lord  —  this  Scottish  crown  of  ours, 

August  and  ancient  though  it  be, 
Doth  yet  confer  but  stinted  powers, 

And  is  but  royal  in  degree. 
He  whom  the  nobles  hail  as  king 

Becomes  the  foremost  of  them  all ; 
He  passes  first  in  listed  ring. 

In  battle,  banquet,  bower,  or  hall. 
He  leads  our  armies  to  the  field. 
The  laws  are  his  to  guard  and  wield ; 

And  yet  'tis  widely  known. 
Without  the  concert  of  his  peers. 
No  Scottish  king,  these  thousand  years, 

Hath  ever  kept  the  throne. 
Is  it  not  time  for  concert  now  ? 
The  crown  is  on  a  woman's  brow. 
The  people,  by  the  preachers  led, 
Heap  insult  on  her  royal  head  — 
She  stands  alone,  without  a  mate 

On  whom  her  arm  might  lean  — 
Why  sleep  the  guardians  of  the  State .'' 
Their  voice  is  strong,  their  powers  are  great ; 

Let  them  direct  the  Queen  !  " 


BOTHAVELL.  109 


"  Thanks,  Maitland,  thanks  !  I  see  thy  aim  — 

By  heaven,  it  shall  be  done  ! 
If  Scotland's  peers  support  my  claim, 

The  prize  is  almost  won  ! 
Ay,  and  who  dare  impeach  their  choice  ! 
Let  me  but  gain  the  nobles'  voice, 
And  rumor,  like  a  rated  cur, 

Must  shrink  into  its  den  ; 
Let  factions  rise,  or  treason  stir, 

I  well  can  face  them  then  ! 
About  it  straight !     Let  Morton  sign, 

Huntley  and  Cassilis,  Crawford  too  — 
Their  fortunes  are  compact  with  mine  ; 

"When  they  stand  forward,  not  a  few 
For  love,  or  dread,  or  shame  will  join. 
Ruthven  will  follow,  nothing  loth  : 
Errol,  Argyle  —  I  have  them  both. 
And  hark'ye  —  sound  the  bishops,  man  ! 

Each  reverend  name  is  worth  a  score  — 
Place  old  St.  Andrews  in  the  van, 

He'll  bring  us  Orkney,  Ross,  and  more. 
About  it  straight !     The  time's  complete  ; 

All  timorous  thoughts  I  trample  down : 
He  must  not  walk  with  idle  feet 

Who  seeks  to  win  and  wear  a  crown  ! " 


110  EOTHWELL,  part  I  v. 

XIX. 

They  gave  it  me  —  that  fatal  Band  ; 

I  hekl  their  honor  in  my  hand. 

Lords,  whose  great  names  were  widely  known 

Ere  Malcolm  Canmore  filled  the  tin  one  ; 

Chieftains,  who  ruled  their  broad  domains 

As  freely  as  a  monarch  reigns, 

Around  Avhose  banner's  reared  on  high 

Would  flock  our  Scottish  chivalry ; 

Grave  prelates  who,  in  former  days, 

Before  the  Church  was  rent  in  twain, 
Had  won  the  people's  worthless  praise. 

And  bore  the  crozicr  not  in  vain  — 
The  great,  the  noble,  wdse,  and  free. 
They,  one  and  all,  were  bound  to  me  ! 
No  miser  ever  clutched  his  gold 

More  keenly  than  did  I  the  scroll  ; 
I  conned  it  over,  fold  by  fold, 

I  Aveighed  each  name  upon  the  roll. 

XX. 

"  And  now,"  thought  I,  "  though  fortune  change, 

My  place  is  firm,  my  seat  secure; 
Yea,  let  her  like  a  falcon,  range 

In  wilful  flight  o'er  moss  and  moor  ! 
Nothing,  1  feel,  can  shake  me  now  ; 

The  strength  of  Scotland  backs  my  claim. 
'Tis  but  the  loosing  of  a  vow, 

A  parting  from  a  ready  dame  ; 


BOTHWELL,  111 

A  wooing,  neither  hard  nor  long, 

For  Mary  cannot  but  comply ; 
And  then  —  the  child  was  never  strong, 

Sickness  may  smite  him,  and  he'll  die  — 
Infants  die  easy  —  and  I  reign  ! 

Ha,  ha  !  Elizabeth  may  fret. 
And  Cecil  vex  his  restless  brain  : 

I'll  make  them  know  me  better  yet  ! 
For  let  them  dare  to  disallow 

My  claim  of  right  —  and,  by  my  head, 
Before  a  year  goes  by,  they'll  trow 

That  Bruce  has  risen  from  the  dead  ! " 

XXI. 

There  was  a  knocking.     "  'Sdeath  !  what  fool 

Comes  here  to  interrupt  me  now  ? 
Ha  !  Ormiston,  my  trusty  friend  — 

"Welcome,  —  but  why  that  gloomy  brow  ? 
Be  joyful,  man  !  —  all's  done,  all's  sure." 

"  What's  done?  you're  not  her  husband  yet?"' 
"  No  —  but  my  claim  is  made  secure ; 

This  Band,  to  which  the  Lords  have  set 
Their  names  and  seals  "  —  "  Is  like  the  rest. 

Parchment  and  ink  —  I  know  them  well  — 
Good  faith  hath  been  a  stranger  guest 

Since  Scottish  nobles  learned  to  spell. 
Your  own  brave  father  woo'd  a  Queen  — 
This  Mary's  mother.     I  have  seen 
The  letters  written  by  her  hand. 
Far  clearer  than  that  doubtful  Band, 


112  BOTHWELL.  part  iv 

With  promise,  oath,  and  token  too ; 

He  deemed  himself  secure,  like  you, 

Yet  died  he  in  a  foreign  land. 

O,  never  rest  your  faith  on  words ; 

Pens  are  for  priests  ;  trust  nought  but  swords  ! 

Clerks  torture  language  to  conceal 

Their  inward  thoughts,  and  cheat  the  eye ; 
There's  honesty  in  naked  steel, 

It  rings  too  sharply  for  a  lie  !  " 

XXII. 

"A  cheerfiil  counsellor  art  thou  ! 

What  next?     If  nothing  worse  portend. 
Relax  the  rigor  of  thy  brow, 

And  speak  to  me  as  friend  with  friend. 
Why  —  still  thou  lookest  stern  and  strange  — 

What  is  it  that  thou  hast  to  tell  ?  " 
"  Listen  and  mark.     The  Laird  of  Grange, 

Kirkaldy,  whom  we  know  full  well 
To  be  as  resolute  a  knight 

As  lives  within  this  Scottish  land  — 
No  better  ever  ruled  a  fight, 

No  wiser  ever  held  command  — 
Accuses  you  in  open  day 

Of  Darnley's  murder  !  "     "  Dares  he  so  ? 
And  was  there  none  his  tongue  to  stay, 

No  hand  to  deal  a  dagger-blow  .-  " 


EOTHAVELL.  113 


XXIII. 

"•  On  even  field  I  -would  not  fear 
To  meet  Kirkaldy  spear  to  spear ; 
But  shame  it  were  to  touch  his  life 
Through  vassal's  dirk  or  yeoman's  knife  I 
Know  you  the  power  he  holds  in  Fife  r 
He  can  array,  at  trumpet  call, 
The  Leslies  and  the  INIelvilles  all  ; 
Though  but  a  knight  of  gentle  strain, 
No  Lord  can  summon  such  a  train. 
Since  Wallace,  none  has  known  the  art, 
Like  him,  to  Avin  the  people's  heart ; 
Burghers,  who  scowl  or  turn  aside 
When  peers  and  bishops  proudly  ride. 
Would  do  him  service  on  their  knee, 
And  vail  to  him  the  bonnet  free. 
The  preachers,  who  are  hard  to  bend, 
Regard  him  as  their  stanchest  friend  ; 
He  guides  their  council,  wields  their  will. 
He  bids  them  clamor  or  be  still ; 
Of  evil  omen  is  the  day 
That  brings  Kirkaldy  to  the  fray  !  " 


"  So  then,  that  champion  of  misrule 
Aspires  to  measure  swords  with  me  ? 

He  comes  too  late !     I  were  a  fool 
To  match  with  one  of  his  degree. 


]  1 4  BOTIIWELL.  PAl 

My  challenge  stood  unanswered  long. 
He  might  have  offered  when  'twas  new ; 

I'll  not  be  baited  by  the  throng, 

And  bide  his  knightship's  leisure  too  ! " 

XXV. 

"  Despise  him  not ;  his  plans  arc  laid. 
His  friends  are  numbered  and  arrayed ; 

Their  watchword  is  '  The  Queen  !' 
They  say  that  you,  and  you  alone, 
Are  guilty  of  the  murder  done  — 

Of  Darnley's  death,  I  mean. 
Nay,  hear  me  out !  —  'Tis  childish  now 
To  wince  at  words  —  On  you  they  throw 
All  the  huge  burden  of  the  charge : 
Mark  that!  —  for  Morton  walks  at  large. 
Your  every  scheme  is  traced  and  known  ; 
They  say  you  seek  to  mount  the  throne 
By  aid  of  your  associate  Lords  ; 

They  say  the  Prince  —  you  need  not  chafe, 
I  but  repeat  the  people's  words  — 

Within  your  hands  were  barely  safe. 
They  say " 


"What  care  I  for  their  prate  ? 
The  sordid  knaves  may  howl  and  groan  ; 
Not  theirs  to  overrule  my  fate, 
Or  bar  my  passage  to  the  throne ! 


IV.  BOTHWEI.I,.  1 1 5 

Let  twenty  knights  of  greater  worth. 
Than  this  Kirkaldy  venture  forth, 
Of  what  avail  would  be  their  stand 
Against  the  nobles  of  the  land  ? 
I  tell  thee,  man,  their  names  are  here  ; 

They  urge  my  marriage  with  the  Queen." 
"  Hath  she  consented  ?  "     "  No  —  'tis  clear 

Soma  little  space  must  intervene  : 
She  has  not  thrown  her  weeds  aside." 

"  She  knows  your  purpose?  "     "  She  may  guess." 
"  What !  do  yoii  count  upon  a  bride 

Before  her  lips  have  answered.  Yes  ? 
Never  spoke  I  with  courtly  dame, 
But  women  are  throughout  the  same ; 
The  lowest  lass  in  Teviotdale 
That  goes  a-milking  with  her  pail. 
Is  mistress  of  her  heart  and  hand. 
And  Avill  not  yield  them  at  command. 
Lovers  must  bend,  and  fawn,  and  sue 

To  maids  of  high  or  low  degree ; 
The  wooing  may  be  rough,  'tis  true. 

Yet,  nathless,  wooing  there  must  be. 
That  parchment  no  assurance  gives  — 

I  see  not  how  it  aids  your  aim. 
You  are  not  free  :  your  Countess  lives  ; 

She  may  refuse  to  waive  her  claim. 
Come  now  —  be  frank  with  me,  my  Lord  ! 

Something  of  courtly  craft  I  know  ! 
Who  brought  you  this  ?  for,  by  my  word, 
I  hold  him  less  your  friend  than  foe  !  " 


110  BOTHAVELL. 


XXVII. 

""Twas  Lcthington  !"     "Why,  he's  in  league 

With  Morton  and  Kirkaldy  too  ! 
The  busiest  spider  of  intrigue 

That  ever  simple  Scotland  knew  ! 
This  web  is  of  his  weaving,  then  ? 

We'll  burst  it  yet  !     The  Queen's  away  r  " 
"  She  passed  with  Huntley  and  his  men 

To  Stirling  Castle  yesterday."' 
"  When  comes  she  back  ?  "   "To-morrow."   "Good 
Now  listen  —  here,  in  Holyrood, 
You  cannot  gain  the  Queen's  consent ; 
Within  a  week  the  storm,  now  pent, 
Will  break  in  fury  on  your  head. 
The  Commons,  by  Kirkaldy  led. 

Will  thunder  at  the  palace  gate ; 
And,  were  you  innocent  as  Knox, 
When  captured  at  St.  Andrews  rocks, 

Your  friends  must  leave  you  to  your  fate. 

XXVIII. 

"  Be  ruled  by  me —  forestall  the  time  ! 

Surprise  is  fair  in  love  or  war ; 
A  little  urging  is  no  crime  — 

Take  Mary  with  you  to  Dunbar  ! 
Thanks  to  the  knave  who  brought  mc  word, 
Kirkaldy  set  us  on  our  guard  : 
I  have  a  thousand  horsemen  here, 
From  Crichton  and  from  Tcviotdale, 


jr.  BOTHAVEIL.  1 1 7 

Men  who  were  never  known  to  fail, 
All  ready,  armed  with  jack  and  spear. 
Around  Dunbar  the  waters  sweep ; 

Meet  place  for  meditation  lone. 
When  he  who  owns  the  castle-keep 

Is  host  and  lover,  both  in  one ! 
Take,  too,  the  Band ;  it  may  suffice 
To  still  some  doubts,  should  such  arise ! 
'Twere  pity  that  her  Royal  Grace 

Saw  not  that  dutiful  demand  !  — 
Now,  I  have  told  you  all  the  case  ; 

Lord  Bothwell,  will  you  touch  my  hand  ? 
Nay,  never  shrink  —  'tis  now  too  late  ; 

To-morrow  must  the  deed  be  done  ; 
You'll  find  me  at  the  western  gate. 

With  all  our  men  equipped,  by  one. 
I  know  the  road  ;  we'll  meet  them  there. 

Then  hey  o'er  meadow,  heath,  and  hill ! 
Come  now,  be  brave  !  —  All  bids  us  fair  — 

Wilt  thou  do  this  ? "     "  Your  hand  —  I  will ! " 


PAUT   riPTH. 


PART    FIFTH 


I. 

AscENsrox  morn  I  I  hear  the  bells 

Ring  from  the  village  far  away ; 
How  solemnly  that  music  tells 

The  mystic  story  of  the  day ! 
Fainter  and  fainter  come  the  chimes^ 

As  though  they  melted  into  air. 
Like  voices  of  the  ancient  times, 

Like  whispers  of  ascending  prayer  ! 
So  sweet  and  gentle  sound  they  yet, 

That  I,  who  never  bend  the  knee, 
Can  listen  on,  and  half  forget 

That  heaven's  bright  door  is  shut  for  me. 
Yes,  universal  as  the  dew, 

Which  falls  alike  on  field  and  fen. 
Comes  the  wide  summons  to  the  true. 

The  false,  the  best,  and  worst  of  men. 
Ring  on,  ye  bells  !     Let  others  throng 

Before  the  blessed  rood  to  pray  ; 
8 


122  BOTIIAVELL. 

Let  them  have  comfort  in  the  song 
That  celebrates  this  holy  day. 

Ring  on  for  them  !      I  hear  you  well, 
Rut  cannot  lift  my  thoughts  on  high ; 

The  dreary  mists  that  rise  from  hell 
Come  thick  between  mc  and  the  sky  ! 

II. 

O  God,  I  wish  that  I  were  dead  ! 

That  I  had  died  long,  long  ago, 
With  but  such  sin  upon  my  head 

As  men  of  dull  temptations  know ! 
We  cleave  to  life,  yet  never  deem 

That  life  may  be  a  curse  and  snare  — 
Far  better  with  the  dead  to  dream. 

Than  wake  in  torture  and  despair. 

0  yes,  I  can  be  humble  now  ! 
Sometimes  my  mood  is  stern  and  wild. 

Yet  often  I  must  stoop  my  brow. 
And  weep  aa  weakly  as  a  child. 

Defiance  burns  within  me  yet, 
Rut  none  are  near  me  to  defy  ; 

1  cannot  palter  or  forget, 

Or  cheat  my  conscience  with  a  lie. 
I  have  shed  blood,  and  rued  it  sore, 

Rccause  it  was  not  knightly  done  ; 
Yet  were  that  all  my  guilt  —  no  more  — 

It  well  might  brook  comparison 
With  deeds  that,  in  the  preachers'  eyes, 
Appear  a  righteous  sacrifice. 


BOTHWELL.  123 

Tliey  own  no  saints ;  else,  well  I  ween, 
A  saint  had  Norman  Leslie  been  : 
Norman,  that  fiery  youth  and  bold, 
Who  forced  his  way  to  Beatoun's  hold, 
And  saw,  unmoved,  the  murderer's  knife 
Let  out  the  Primate's  throbbing  life. 
Though  private  feud,  not  holy  zeal, 
Set  Norman  forward  with  his  steel, 
Yet  his  was  styled  a  godly  deed. 
Because  he  made  a  bishop  bleed. 
Witchcraft  has  charms  to  daze  the  sight ; 

Strange  glamour  has  religion  too  : 
It  makes  the  wrong  appear  the  right, 

The  false  as  worthy  as  the  true ! 
The  ten  commandments  dwindle  down, 

In  case  of  pious  need,  to  nine ; 
Murder  no  more  provokes  a  frown, 

'Tis  justified  by  texts  divine  ! 

III. 

Av/ay,  away  with  thoughts  like  these  ! 

Take  them,  ye  winds,  and  whelm  them,  seas  ! 

For  other  memories  haunt  me.     Yes  ; 

As  greater  billows  drown  the  less. 

So  one  dark  surge  within  my  breast 

Roars  up,  and  overwhelms  the  rest. 

It  might  be  foul,  it  might  be  wrong 

To  slay  the  man  I  hated  long  ; 

But  0,  what  mercy  from  above 

Can  he  entreat  who  strikes  at  love  ? 


124  BOTHWELL. 


Methinks  I  can  recall  the  scene, 

That  bright  and  sunny  day  ; 
The  Pentlands  in  their  early  green 

Like  giant  warders  lay. 
Upon  the  bursting  woods  below 

The  pleasant  sunbeams  fell ; 
Far  off,  one  streak  of  lazy  snow 

Yet  lingered  in  a  dell. 
The  Avestlin'  winds  blew  soft  and  sweet, 

The  meads  were  fair  to  see  ; 
Yet  went  I  not  the  spring  to  greet 

Beneath  the  trysting-tree. 

V. 

For  blades  were  glistening  in  the  light, 

And  morions  flashing  clear  : 
A  thousand  men  in  armor  bright 

Were  there  with  jack  and  spear. 
A  thousand  men,  as  brave  and  stout 

As  ever  faced  a  foe. 
Or  stemmed  the  roaring  battle-tide 

When  fiercest  in  its  flow. 
But  cold  and  cheerless  was  their  mien. 

And  faint  their  welcome  then  :  — 
"  Why,  Ormiston  !  what  sullen  fiend 

Hath  so  possessed  the  men  ? 
They  look  like  images  in  steel. 

Not  vassals  prompt  and  true  : 


^-  BOTHWELt.  125 

Think  you  they  know  or  guess  the  work, 
And  will  they  bear  us  through  ?  " 

VI. 

"  Fear  not  for  that !     No  single  knave 

Will  fail  you  at  your  need  ; 
Were  it  to  gallows  or  to  grave, 

They'd  follow  where  I  lead. 
Give  but  the  signal  for  the  south. 

Or  'gainst  the  townsmen  here. 
And  fast  enough,  from  every  mouth 

Will  peal  the  deafening  cheer ! 
Nothing  need  they  but  action,  sir, 

To  make  them  fierce  and  fain  : 
Last  night  their  blood  began  to  stir ; 

'Twas  pity  to  refrain  ! 
A  blow  or  two  on  yonder  crew 

Right  well  had  been  bestowed  ! 
But  more  anon  :   the  day  wears  on  ; 

'Tis  time  to  take  the  road. 
Hay,  bid  the  trumpets  sound  the  march ; 

Go,  Bolton,  to  the  van ; 
Young  Niddrie  follows  with  the  rear ; 

Set  forward,  every  man  !  " 


"  But  what  hath  chanced  ?    The  streets  are  clear  ; 

I  saw  no  gatliering  throng  : 
No  sound  of  tumult  reached  my  ear, 

Now,  as  I  passed  along." 


126  BOTHWELL. 

"  0,  sir!  the  Edinburgh  folk  are  vise  ; 
They  know  the  value  of  disguise ! 
Short  warning  give  they  of  the  fray, 
For  they  are  hounds  that  do  not  bay 

Until  they  tear  you  down ; 
But  well  is  it  for  us  to-day. 

That  we  have  left  the  town. 
I  knew  that  danger  was  at  hand, 

But  deemed  it  not  so  nigh  ; 
Your  chance  was  lost,  despite  the  Band, 

Had  this  one  day  gone  by. 
Kirkaldy's  friends  have  laid  their  plot, 

They  know  our  purpose  well. 
You  start  —  thank  God,  they  ventured  not 

To  sound  St.  Giles's  bell ! 
Then  had  the  craftsnacn  rushed  to  arms ; 

And  ill  it  were  to  strive. 
With  hampered  men,  against  the  swarms 

Lodged  in  yon  waspish  hive  ! 
Had  Morton  joined  them  with  his  might, 

Or  message  come  from  Mar, 
Why,  you  and  I  this  self-same  night 

Had  lodged  within  Dunbar  : 
Not,  as  I  trust,  with  royal  guest, 

At  will  to  entertain, 
But  with  some  score  of  beaten  men 

Too  scared  to  draw  the  rein. 
The  townsfolk  can  be  dangerous  foes. 

If  roused  within  their  den  ; 
Good  faitli  !  and,  if  it  comes  to  blows. 

They  bear  themselves  like  men ! 


BOTHWELL.  127 


Till. 

"  Last  night  they  tried  our  troopers'  faith  ; 

And  many  a  can  of  ale 
Was  emptied  to  Queen  Mary's  health 

By  lads  of  Liddesdale-. 
Frankly  the  burghers  played  the  host ;. 

And  all  was  merry  game, 
Till  one  gruff  elder  of  the  Kirk 

Waxed  wrathful  at  your  name. 
Short  say  was  his,  and  incomplete  ; 

For,  as  he  cleared  his  throat, 
An  Armstrong  had  him  by  the  feet, 

A  Johnstone  by  the  coat. 
Amidst  the  brawl,  arose  the  caili 

Of  '  Douglas  for  the  town  ! 
Ho  !  rally  for  the  Bleeding  Heart, 

And  bear  the  Hepburns  down  ! ' 
That  cry  was  ready  and  designed. 
It  rung  through  street,  and  pealed  through  wynd. 

But  Morton  was  not  there. 
Yet  bear  it  ever  in  your  mind. 
And  guard  against  the  stab  behind 

When  Douglas  speaks  you  fair  ! 
Right  glad  was  I  from  yonder  pack 

Our  men  unscathed  to  bring  ; 
And  when  we  ride  in  triumph  back, 

Lord  Earl,  I'll  hail  thee  king  !  " 


128  BOXIIWELL. 


IX. 

"  Hush,  Ormiston  !     I  dare  not  think 

Too  closely  of  this  thing  !  " 
"  What  I  would  5fou  from  the  water  shiink 

When  standing  by  the  spring  ? 
I  know  you  better,  good  my  Lord ! 

Your  doubts  arc  but  a  dream  ; 
They'll  cease  to  haunt  you  when  you  see 

The  fresh  and  flowing  stream. 
And,  by  my  soul,  the  hour  has  come  ! 

No  pause  or  tarrying  now  ! 
Mark  yonder  drifting  cloud  of  dust 

Above  the  orchard  row  — 
Some  thirty  spears,  not  more,  arc  tliere  — 

I  reckon  by  their  sheen  : 
And  yonder  is  a  knight  in  mail  — 

'Tis  Huntley  with  the  Queen  ! 
Ho,  sound  a  halt !     Ride  forward  you  ; 

I'll  follow  with  my  band  : 
Now,  Bothwell,  to  yourself  be  true  — 

The  crown  is  in  your  hand  ! "' 


True  to  myself?     False  —  false  as  hell, 

And  false  to  all  beside  ! 
Yet  what  I  did  was  acted  well  : 

The  devil  was  my  guide. 
For  question  left  I  little  space  ; 

I  spurred  across  the  plain  : 


BOTH  WELL.  129 


I  met  Queen  Maiy,  face  to  face, 
And  took  her  palfrey's  rein. 


"  Pardon,  my  liege,  if  hot  with  haste 

I  fail  in  homage  due ! 
Too  precious  is  the  time  to  waste  ; 

My  care  is  all  for  you. 
Thanks  to  the  warders  at  the  gate, 
Who  showed  their  courage  somewhat  late, 

I've  brought  my  soldiers  through  ! 
Madam  !  rebellion  rages  wide 

Within  yon  luckless  town  : 
The  craftsmen  in  tumultuous  tide 

To  Holja'ood  sweep  down  ! 
*  Fire,  fire  the  chapel  ! '  is  their  cry  ; 

'  No  mass  —  no  mumbled  prayer  ! 
Hale  forth  the  priests,  and  let  them  die  : 
Down,  down  with  rank  Idolatry  ! 
'  Smite,  burn,  and  do  not  spare  ! ' 
Nay,  Madam  —  never  look  so  pale  — 
Your  friends  are  safe.     I  did  not  fail 

To  send  a  trusty  band. 
Who,  though  perchance  they  cannot  beat 
The  rebels  back,  or  clear  the  street, 

Have  this  in  strict  command  — 
To  make  at  least  the  passage  good 
Of  all  your  train  from  Holyrood, 
To  Crichton,  my  ancesti'al  home. 
Where  the  false  villains  dare  not  come. 


130  BOTIIAVELL. 

But  you,  our  Lady  and  our  Queen  — 

Your  safety  is  my  care  : 
One  royal  fortress  yet  remains, 

We'll  bring  you  bravely  there. 
I  hold  your  castle  of  Dunbar, 
The  strongest  keep  equipped  for  war 

Within  the  Lothians  wide : 
No  other  place  is  half  so  sure  ; 
There  shall  you  rest  in  peace,  secure, 
Until  the  nobles  raise  their  men 
•        To  drive  rebellion  back  again  — 

Say,  Madam,  will  you  ride  ? 
Short  is  the  space  for  parley  now, 

The  road  beset  may  be  ; 
But  though  we  hew  our  passage  through, 

We'll  bear  your  Highness  free  ! 
Come,  Lcthington  !  we  wait  your  word  : 

What  better  can  be  done  ? 
Far  is  the  ride ;  but  yet,  my  Lord, 

There's  nearer  shelter  none. 
Safe  is  that  hold  from  storm  or  siege. 

However  wide  the  war  — 
'Tis  well  resolved  !     My  gracious  liege. 

This  night  we  reach  Dunbar." 

XII. 

O  wretch,  to  fashion  such  a  lie  ! 

O  slave,  to  ruin  one  so  fair ! 
0  false  to  faith  and  chivalry  ! 

O  villain,  well  may  I  despair  ! 


BOTHWELX.  131 

Why  live  I  longer,  since  I  know- 
That  prayer  and  penitence  are  vain  ; 
Since  hope  is  dead  for  me  below, 

And  hell  can  give  no  ghastlier  pain  ? 
Beneath  the  flags  that,  day  by  day, 

Return  dull  echoes  to  my  tread, 
A  grave  is  hollowed  in  the  clay  ; 

It  waits  the  coming  of  the  dead  : 
A  grave  apart,  a  grave  unknown, 

A  grave  of  solitude  and  shame. 
Whereon  shall  lie  no  sculptured  stone 

With  legend  of  a  warrior's  name. 
O  would  it  yawn  to  take  me  in. 

And  bind  me,  soul  and  body,  down ! 
O  could  it  hide  me  and  my  sin, 

When  the  last  trumpet-blast  is  blown ! 
0  might  one  guilty  form  remain 

Unsummoned  to  that  awful  crowd, 
When  all  the  chiefs  of  Bothwell's  strain 

Shall  rise  from  sepulchre  and  shroud ! 
How  could  I  meet  their  stony  stare  — 

How  could  1  see  my  father's  face  — 
I,  the  one  tainted  felon  there. 

The  foul  Iscariot  of  my  race  ? 


I  sought  her  presence  in  the  hall  — 
Not  as  a  knight  prepared  to  woo, 

But  like  a  faltering  criminal 

W^ho  knows  not  what  to  say  or  do. 


132  EOTHWELL.  paut 

I  told  the  story  once  again 

Of  wide  rebellion  in  the  land, 
Of  clamor  raised  against  her  reign, 

Of  treason  by  the  preachers  planned. 
I  tokl  her  that  the  English  Queen 

"Was  bent  to  drive  her  from  the  throne. 
That  still  Elizabeth's  aim  had  been 

To  rule  in  Britain's  isle,  alone. 
"  Madam,"  I  said  ;  "  Though  great  her  power, 

Trust  me,  that  woman's  craft  is  vain  ; 
Nor  any  town,  nor  any  tower. 

Shall  she  usurp  on  Scottish  plain. 
Though  knaves  and  hypocrites  combine. 

Though  the  old  faith  be  trampled  down, 
"We'll  rally  round  our  royal  line, 

And  perish  ere  they  wrong  the  Crown  ! 

XIV. 

"  Yet,  Madam,  plainly  must  I  speak  — 

And  O,  forgive  me  if  I  say 
A  lady's  arm  is  all  too  weak 

The  sceptre  and  the  sword  to  sway ! 
Changed  are  the  times  from  those  of  yore, 

"When  duty  was  a  sacred  thing. 
When  loyal  hearts  the  people  bore. 

And  priests  were  subject  to  the  king. 
Not  now,  upon  the  Sabbath  day. 
Are  men  oxliorted  to  obey. 
Nor  do  they  meet  to  kneel  and  pray. 


BOTHWEI.L.  133 

Savage  and  wild  the  preacher  stands, 
And  imprecates  with  lifted  hands 
The  wrath  of  Heaven  upon  the  head 
Of  all  who  differ  from  his  creed. 
Nor  only  that ;   the  pulpit  rings 
With  lying  talcs  of  priests  and  kings. 
Bold  in  his  self-commissioned  cause, 
He  hurls  defiance  at  the  laws, 
And  bids  his  hearers  bare  the  sword, 
Against  their  rulers,  for  the  Lord  ! 
O  since  your  father,  royal  James, 

Sighed  out  his  life  in  Falkland  tower. 
How  many  churches,  wrapped  in  flames. 

Have  witnessed  to  the  spoilers'  power  ! 
Amidst  the  jeers  of  knave  and  clown 
Altar  and  fane  came  thundering  down  ; 
The  abbeys,  where  the  poor  were  fed, 
Have  now  no  inmates  but  the  dead. 
And  wild  birds  feed  their  callow  vouno- 
In  aisles  where  once  the  anthem  runs. 


"  And  deem  not  that  their  rage  is  passed  — 

It  lives,  it  burns  within  them  still  ; 
Misrule  and  anarchy  will  last 

While  those  wild  preachers  have  their  will. 
This  new  rebellion  shows  their  mood  ; 

Altar  and  throne  alike  must  down : 
The  hands  that  tore  away  the  hood 

Are  eager  to  profane  the  Crown  ! 


134  BOTHAVELL. 


"  But  we  can  stay  them  in  their  course ; 

And  this  the  counsel  of  the  wise  — 
Force  must  be  met,  and  fought  by  force, 

Else  Scotland,  as  a  kingdom,  dies. 
The  nobles  who  allowed  their  aid 

To  help  the  growing  power, 
Shrink  from  the  monster  tliey  have  made 

Insatiate  to  devour. 
Ready  are  they  with  heart  and  hand 
To  crush  rebellion  in  the  land  ; 
All  private  quarrel  to  forego. 
And  league  against  the  common  foe. 
Such,  Lady,  is  their  full  intent, 
And  this  the  token  they  have  sent. 
Behold  their  names  —  recorded  here 
Are  those  of  prelate,  statesman,  peer  : 
The  heart  of  Scotland  and  its  might 
In  this  great  bond  of  love  unite. 
And  never  more  shall  treason  dare 
To  lift  its  head  in  open  air 
Against  a  brotherhood  so  fair ! 


"  But,  Madam,  something  they  require  — 
O  that  I  might  from  speech  refrain  ! 

Scarce  can  I  utter  their  desire, 

Or  speak  a  prayer  that  may  be  vain  ! 


BOTHAVELL.  135 

Yet  must  I  do  it.     Lady  !  see  — 

"With  throbbing  heart  and  bended  knee 

Thus  low  before  your  royal  seat 

I  pour  my  homage  at  your  feet ! 

0,  by  the  heaven  that  spreads  above, 

By  all  that  man  holds  fond  and  dear ! 
I  had  not  dared  to  tell  my  love, 

Or  breathe  that  secret  in  your  ear, 
But  for  the  urgence  of  the  time, 
When  silence  almost  is  a  crime  — 
But  for  the  danger  to  the  throne, 
James  Hepburn  to  his  grave  had  gone, 

And  never  knelt  as  now  ! 
Nay,  gracious  ^Nladam  —  do  not  rise  ; 
Well  can  I  fathom  the  surprise 

That  sits  upon  your  brow  ! 
Were  I  by  wild  ambition  stirred. 

Or  moved  by  selfish  aim, 
Then  might  you  spurn  my  suit  preferred, 
Bid  me  begone,  condemned,  unheard. 

And  ever  loathe  my  name. 
Nay  more  —  for  frankly  will  I  speak  — 
The  marriage  bonds  I  wear,  though  weak. 

Would  still  have  tied  my  tongue ; 
Nor  from  my  heart  had  friend  or  priest, 
While  life  yet  ebbed  within  my  breast, 

This  free  confession  wrung  !  " 


136  BOXIIWELL. 


Silent  and  still,  though  pale  as  doath, 

Queen  Marj'  kept  her  throne, 
But  for  the  heaving  of  her  breast, 

She  seemed  of  marble  stone. 
Scarce  by  a  gesture  did  she  show 

What  thoughts  were  rushing  by  : 
O  noblest  work  of  God  !  — how  low, 
How  mean  I  felt  when  grovelling  so, 

With  every  word  a  lie  ! 
"  And  can  it  be,"  at  length  she  said, 
"That  Bothwell  has  his  Queen  betrayed? 
Bothwell,  my  first  and  foremost  knight  — 
Bothwell,  whose  faith  I  deemed  more  bright, 
More  pure  than  any  spotless  gem 
That  glitters  in  my  diadem  ? 
Great  God  !  what  guilt  of  me  or  mine 
H^ath  thus  provoked  thy  wrath  divine  ? 
Weary,  though  short,  has  been  my  life ; 
For  dangers,  sickness,  murders,  strife. 
All  the  worst  woes  that  man  can  fear. 
Have  thickened  round  me  year  by  year. 
The  smiles  of  love  I  scarce  had  seen 

Ere  death  removed  them  from  my  view ; 
My  realm  had  scarce  received  its  Queen 

Ere  treason's  hideous  trumpet  blew. 
They  whom  I  sought  to  make  my  friends, 

My  very  kin  proved  false  to  me ; 


BOTHAV^ELL.  137 

And  now  before  me  Bothwell  bends 

In  falsehood,  not  in  faith,  the  knee  ! 
Nay,  nay,  my  Lord  !  you  need  not  speak, 

For  I  have  read  your  purpose  through  ; 
There  is  a  blush  upon  your  cheek 

Which  tells  me  that  my  words  are  true. 
Bothwell !  was  this  a  knightly  deed, 
To  wrong  a  woman  in  her  need. 
When  neither  help  nor  friends  were  nigh. 
And  snare  her  with  an  odious  lie  ? 
False  was  the  tale  that  brought  me  here. 

False  even  as  the  love  you  feign  ; 
And  now  you  think,  perhaps  through  fear. 

Your  Queen  and  Mistress  to  restrain !  " 

XIX. 

Stung  to  the  quick,  but  bolder  far. 
As  men  detected  ever  are, 

I  answered  her  again  — 
"  Madam  !  if  I  have  erred  through  love, 
I  look  for  pardon  from  above. 

And  shall  not  look  in  vain. 
True  love  is  prompt,  and  will  not  wait 
Till  chance  or  hazard  ope  the  gate. 
Not  mine  the  arts  that  gallants  own 
Who  sigh  and  circle  round  the  throne. 
Content  a  lady's  glove  to  wear 
As  their  sole  guerdon  from  the  fair. 
A  soldier  I,  with  little  time, 

And  little  used,  I  trow, 
9 


138  BOTHWELL. 

To  bend,  or  fawn,  or  lisp  in  rhyme. 

As  courtly  minions  do. 
If  I  am  plain  and  blunt  of  mood. 

My  sword  is  sharp  and  keen  ; 
And  never  have  I  spared  my  blood 

In  combat  for  my  Queen. 
"Why,  Madam,  should  you  speak  of  fear? 
I  used  no  force  to  bring  you  here. 
This  castle  is  a  royal  hold  ; 

Above,  upon  the  turret  high, 
The  Ruddy  Lion  ramps  in  gold, 

Brave  sign  of  Scotland's  majesty. 
Safe  as  in  Holyrood  you  bide, 
With  friends  around  you  and  beside. 

And  here  you  keep  your  state. 
Say  that  I  longed  to  speak  my  mind, 
To  tell  you  what  the  peers  designed  — 
To  plead  my  cause,  however  rude. 
Where  no  rash  meddler  might  intrude  — 

Was  that  a  crime  so  great  ? 
Ah,  Madam,  be  not  so  unkind ! 
If  love  is  hasty,  it  is  blind. 

And  will  not  bear  to  wait." 


Then  rose  she  up  ;  and  on  her  brow 
Was  stamped  the  Stuart  frown  :  — 

"  By  all  the  saints  in  heaven,  I  vow 
This  man  would  bear  me  down  ! 


BOTHWEXL.  ISO- 

He  prates  of  love,  as  if  my  hand 

Were  but  a  sworder's  prize, 
That  any  ruffian  in  the  land 

Might  challenge  or  despise  ! 
What  mad  ambition  prompts  you,  sir, 

To  utter  this  to  me  ? 
What  word  of  mine  has  raised  your  hopes 

In  such  a  wild  degree  ? 
I  gave  you  trust,  because  I  deemed 

Your  honor  free  from  stain  ; 
I  raised  you  to  the  highest  place 

That  subject  could  attain, 
Because  I  thought  you  brave  and  true, 

And  fittest  to  command, 
When  murder  stalked  in  open  day. 

And  treason  shook  the  land. 
Are  these  your  thanks  for  all  my  grace, 

Is  this  your  knightly  vow  ? 
Fie,  Bothwell !  hide  your  perjured  face  — 

There's  falsehood  on  your  brow  !  " 


Swift  as  the  adder  rears  its  head 
When  trampled  by  the  shepherd's  tread, 
Sprang  up  my  pride  ;  for  word  of  scorn 
By  me  was  never  tamely  borne. 
Like  liquid  fire  through  every  vein 
The  blood  rushed  burning  to  my  brain  ; 
All  the  Avorst  passions  of  my  soul 
Broke  out  at  once  beyond  control. 


140  BOTII"\rELL. 

No  longer  did  I  strive  to  woo  ; 
Pity,  remorse,  away  I  threw. 
And,  desperate  that  my  aim  was  seen, 
I,  as  a  rebel,  faced  my  Q,uccn  ? 

XXII. 

"  Madam  !  I  sought  in  gentle  guise 

To  win  your  royal  ear  ; 
Since  humble  speech  will  not  suffice, 
In  words  unblcnt  with  courtesies 

My  message  shall  you  hear. 
I  speak  not  for  myself  alone ; 
But  for  the  noblest  near  your  throne, 
Who  know  the  Aveakness  of  the  State, 
And  will  not  longer  brook  to  wait, 
Lest  valor  be  aroused  too  late. 
Deeply  the  Lords  of  Scotland  mourn 

The  woeful  cause  of  this  your  grief; 
The  fate  which  left  their  Queen  forlorn. 

And  took  away  their  Prince  and  chief. 
But  sorrow,  though  it  wring  the  heart, 

llath  yet  a  limit  to  its  range  ; 
And  duty  must  resume  its  part 

Since  even  empires  wane  and  chango. 
Therefore  they  pray  you,  of  your  grace. 

To  put  aside  the  garb  of  dulc. 
And  choose  some  mate  of  Scottish  race 

To  aid  you  in  the  sovereign  rule. 
You  need  a  guardian  for  your  son, 
And  they  a  chief  to  lead  them  on. 


EOTHWELL.  141 

There's  not  a  man  but  will  rejoice 
To  hail  th'>  partner  of  your  choice  : 
To  him  oboclience  will  they  yield, 
Him  will  t'ijy  follow  to  the  field  ; 
And  deal  so  strictly  with  your  foes, 

Whether  abroad  or  here, 
That  tho  wide  land  shall  gain  repose, 

And  good  men  cease  to  fear. 

XXIII. 

"  So  say  the  Lords  :   and  all  agree 
To  follow  and  be  ruled  by  me. 
Traced  on  this  parchment  are  the  names 
Of  thosr:;  who  own  and  urge  my  claims. 
Therefore  the  suit  which  you  despise 
Seems  not  so  strange  to  other  eyes ; 
Nor,  Mailam.  were  it  safe  or  wise 

To  thwart  their  wishes  now. 
Alone,  'tis  cloar  you  cannot  stand  ; 
For  not  tho  sceptre,  but  the  brand. 
Must  stiil  t'iie  tumults  of  the  land, 

And  lay  rebellion  low. 
Your  no:;les  proffer  well  and  fair  ; 
They  wait  your  answer  to  their  prayer, 
Not  doubting  that  your  Grace  will  own 
Their  deep  devotion  to  the  throne. 
And  now,  'twere  best  I  tell  you  plain, 
Resistance  to  their  prayer  is  vain. 
Their  will  —  or,  if  you  think  the  word 
Too  harsh  —  their  counsel  must  be  heard  ! 


142  BOTHAVELL.  PART 

I  iim  no  madman,  fond  and  blind, 

No  fool  to  court  contempt  and  shame ; 
Nor  did  I  hope  to  sway  your  mind 

By  any  oaths  that  love  can  frame. 
Well  know  I,  Madam,  what  I  do, 

And  what  awaits  me  if  I  fail : 
I  stand  not  here  to  fawn  or  sue, 

I  came  determined  to  prevail ! 
Think  not  that  rashly  I  provoke 
The  sentence  and  the  headsman's  stroke  ! 
Dream  not  of  rescue  —  none  will  come  ; 
As  well  seek  answer  from  the  dumb  ! 

XXIV. 

"  Nay,  if  you  doubt  me,  send  and  try  ; 

No  harsh  or  timid  gaoler  I ! 

Your  messengers  have  leave  to  go 

Where  water  runs  or  breezes  blow. 

Send  forth  your  summons  —  warn  them  all ! 

Tell  every  noble,  far  and  near. 
That  Bothwell  lured  you  to  his  hall, 

And  holds  you  as  a  captive  here. 
Bid  Morton  come,  bid  Cassilis  arm  ; 

Call  Errol,  Caithness,  and  Argyle ; 
Give  order  for  the  loud  alarm 

To  ring  through  strath  and  sound  o'er  isle. 
Call  Lethington,  your  trustiest  friend  ; 

Warn  Herries  of  this  rude  surprise  — 
How  many  lances  will   they  send  ? 

Believe  me,  not  a  man  will  rise ! 


BOTHAVELL.  143 

Bound  to  my  cause  is  every  peer ; 
"With,  their  consent  I  brought  you  here : 
And  here  your  highness  must  remain, 

And  quell  your  woman's  pride  ; 
Till  from  Dunbar  a  joyous  train 

To  Holyrood  shall  ride. 
With  BothAvell  at  your  palfrey's  rein, 

And  you  his  willing  bride  ! " 

XXV. 

O  tiger  heart !  that  fiercer  grew 
With  every  anguished  breath  she  drew  — 
That  gloated  on  her  quivering  eye, 
And  trance  of  mortal  agony  ! 

0  savage  beast !  most  justly  driven 

By  man  from  home,  by  God  from  heaven ! 
What  fitter  refuge  could  I  have 

Than  this  neglected  lair, 
Where,  grovelling  o'er  my  empty  grave, 

1  yet  am  free  to  howl  and  rave. 

And  rend  my  grizzly  hair  r 
O  well  becomes  it  me  to  rage 

At  crimes  of  other  men ; 
To  snarl  defiance  from  my  cage. 

And  antic  in  my  den  — 
I,  than  all  others  guiltier  far. 

So  vile,  so  lost,  so  mean  ! 
O  fade  from  heaven,  thou  evening  star, 

I  cannot  bear  thy  sheen  ! 


144  BOTHWELL. 


Hopeless,  abandoned  to  despair. 

What  else  could  Mary  do  but  yield? 
I  took  her  hand  —  she  left  it  there  ; 

'Twas  cold  and  white  as  frost  on  field. 
I  tried  to  comfort  her  ;  a  burst 

Of  frenzied  tears  was  her  reply  : 
Forever  be  the  deed  accurst 

That  forced  such  witness  from  her  eye  ! 
Dim  as  an  unregarded  lamp. 

Her  light  of  life  was  on  the  wane, 
And  on  her  brow  was  set  the  stamp 

Of  utter  misery  and  pain. 
Like  some  caged  bird  that  in  dismay 

Has  fluttered  till  its  strength  is  gone, 
She  had  no  power  to  fly  away, 

Though  wide  the  prison-door  was  thrown. 
In  vain  I  strove  to  wake  a  smile. 

In  vain  protested  she  was  free, 
For  bitterly  she  felt  the  while 

That  henceforth  she  was  bound  to  me  ! 

XXVII. 

Again  I  entered  Holyrood  ; 

Not  as  an  unexpected  guest, 
But,  in  the  pride  of  masterhood. 

With  haughty  eye  and  princely  crest. 
The  cannon  tliundered  welcome  out ; 

The  magnates  all  were  there  ; 


BOTHWELL.  145 

And  thougli  I  missed  the  people's  sliout, 

For  them  I  did  not  care ; 
More  trusty  than  the  rabhle  rout. 

My  troopers  filled  the  square  ! 

XXVIII. 

No  draught  from  magic  herb  or  flower 
Is  equal  to  the  taste  of  power ! 
Right  royally  I  took  my  stand, 
With  knights  and  squires  on  either  hand, 
And  gave  due  audience  to  the  ring 
As  though  I  had  been  born  a  king  ! 
More  wondrous  yet  —  my  altered  tone 
Seemed  strange  or  malapert  to  none. 
With  deep  respect  and  visage  meek, 
Each  civic  ruler  heard  me  speak  — 
Was  proud  my  mandate  to  fulfil. 
And  bowed  obedience  to  my  will. 
But  when  I  turned  me  to  the  Peers, 
Something  there  was  that  waked  my  fears  :  — 
A  guarded,  cold,  and  formal  air, 
A  staid  retent  of  dignity, 
A  studied  guise  of  courtesy, 
Which  faithful  friends  do  never  wear. 
The  greatest  nobles  did  not  come 
To  bid  their  Sovereign  welcome  home, 
.Or  ratify  with  cordial  hand 
The  weighty  promise  of  their  band. 
Why  kept  they  from  me  at  the  time 
When  most  I  lacked  their  aid  ! 


146  BOTH  WELL. 

Was  I,  whom  they  had  urged  to  ciime. 

Discarded  and  betrayed  ? 
Did  they  but  league  to  tempt  me  on  ? 

Were  all  their  vows  a  lure  ? 
Even  with  my  foot  upon  the  throne, 

I  stood  as  insecure 
As  the  rash  huntsman  on  the  lake 

When  winter  slacks  its  spell, 
Who  feels  the  ice  beneath  him  quake, 

And  treads  the  treacherous  well. 


XXIX. 

Yet  not  by  look,  or  word,  or  sign, 

Did  I  my  fears  betray ; 
One  sole  desire  and  thought  was  mine, 

To  haste  the  wedding-day. 
The  law,  though  drowsy  in  its  course, 
Gave  me,  at  length,  a  full  divorce  : 
Nor  did  the  Church  refuse  its  aid, 
Though  Craig  a  stern  remonstrance  made. 
He  was  a  zealot  like  the  rest. 

But  far  more  honest  than  his  kind. 
And  would  not  yield  without  protest 

A  service  hateful  to  his  mind. 
Warned  by  the  past,  I  would  not  wait 

Till  Mary  breathed  again  : 
I  did  not  ask  for  idle  state. 
For  gathering  of  the  proud  and  great. 

Or  pomp  of  nuptial  train. 


BOTHWELL.  147 

I  spoke  the  word  —  she  made  me  Duke; 

I  claimed  her  hand  the  self-same  day  : 
And  though  like  aspen-leaf  she  shook, 
And  wan  and  piteous  was  her  look, 

She  did  not  answer.  Nay ! 

XXX. 

All  was  accomplished.     By  my  side 
The  Queen  of  Scotland  knelt,  a  bride : 
In  face  of  Holy  Kirk,  her  hand 
Was  linked  with  mine  in  marriage  hand ; 
Her  lips  pronounced  the  solemn  word  ; 
I  rose,  her  husband  and  her  lord  ! 

And  now,  what  lacked  I  more  ? 
Around  me  thronged  the  guests  to  pay 
Their  duty  on  the  wedding-day : 
Proud  and  elate,  I  smiled  on  all 
As  master  in  that  royal  hall. 
Scarce  had  I  spoke,  when  clashing  fell 

A  weapon  on  the  floor  : 
I  trembled,  for  I  knew  it  well  — 

The  sword  that  Darnley  Avore. 


PART   SIXTH. 


PAUT     SIXTH. 


O  THAT  I  were  a  mountaineer, 

To  dwell  among  the  Highland  hills ! 
To  tread  the  heath,  to  watch  the  deer, 

Beside  the  fountains  of  the  rills  — 
To  wander  by  the  lonely  lake 

All  silent  in  the  evening's  glow, 
"When,  like  a  phantom  from  the  brake 

Comes  gliding  past  the  stealthy  roe  — 
Without  a  thought,  without  a  care,         ^ 

Without  ambition,  pomp,  or  crime. 
To  live  a  harmless  peasant  there, 

And  die  at  God's  appointed  time  ! 
Of  what  avail  are  wealth  and  power. 

Rank,  worship  —  all  we  seek  to  win, 
Unless  they  bring  the  priceless  dower 
Of  rest,  and  hope,  and  peace  within  ? 


l->2  BOTH  WELL. 


ir. 


I  had  no  peace  ;   if  peace  it  be 

To  rest  unscared,  to  wake  secure, 
To  let  the  fancy  wander  free, 

Or  dream  of  pleasant  things  and  pure  : 
To  take  sweet  counsel  with  a  friend, 

Or,  dearer,  with  a  loving  wife, 
And  sometimes  gladly  to  unbend 

The  strained  and  weary  boAV  of  life. 
Broken  and  feverish  was  my  sleep, 

For,  all  night  long,  within  my  room 
Methought  I  heard  the  murderers  creep. 

And  voices  whisjier  through  the  gloom. 
Nor,  when  the  ghastly  night  was  o'er. 

Content  or  respite  did  I  win ; 
For  guilt  stood  sentry  at  the  door. 

And  challenged  all  who  ventured  in. 
In  fear  I  slept ;  in  fear  I  woke ; 

In  fear  I  lingered  out  the  day ; 
Whatever  lord  or  courtier  spoke, 

.  I  thought  was  uttered  to  betray. 
I  had  no  friends,  save  those  whose  fate 

A  common  danger  linked  with  mine  — 
Men  who  provoked  the  people's  hate. 

And  roared,  like  ruffians,  o'er  their  wine. 
The  burghers  heard  the  noisy  brawl 

That  scared  the  swallows  from  their  eaves. 
And  mourned  that  Scotland's  royal  hall 
Should  thus  be  made  a  den  of  thieves. 


BOTHWELL.  153 


III. 


I  had  a  wife  —  a  fair  one  too  — 

But  love  I  durst  not  even  name ! 
I  kept  aloof,  for  wliy  renew 

The  memory  of  my  sin  and  shame  ? 
She  was  my  hostage,  not  my  bride ; 

Enough  it  was  for  me  to  know 
She  could  not  sever  from  my  side, 

Nor  yet  unsay  the  marriage-vow. 

0  these  were  not  my  thoughts  of  yore. 
When,  free  from  fell  ambition's  taint, 

1  worshipped,  as  I  knelt  before 

The  queen,  the  woman,  and  the  saint ! 
My  hand  had  torn  the  wings  of  love. 

Profaned  its  temple,  soiled  its  shrine  ; 
No  pardon  here,  nor  yet  above. 

Could  granted  be  to  guilt  like  mine ! 


Pardon  !  I  sought  it  not  from  men  ; 

I  would  not  take  it  at  their  hand ! 
I  owned  no  judge,  no  master  then; 

I  was  the  lord  within  the  land. 
Pardon  !  the  word  was  made  for  slaves. 

Not  for  a  Sovereign  Prince  like  me  : 
Lost  is  the  man  who  pardon  craves 

From  any  baser  in  degree. 
There  is  a  peak  of  guilt  so  high, 

That  those  who  reach  it  stand  above 
10 


154  BOTHAVELL.  p. 

The  sweep  of  dull  humanity, 

The  trail  of  passion  and  of  love. 

The  lower  clouds  that  dim  the  heaven, 
Touch  not  the  mountain's  hoary  crown, 

And  on  the  summit,  thunder-riven, 

God's  lightning  only  smites  them  down ! 


0  for  a  war  to  make  me  freed  ! 

Had  England  but  denied  my  claim, 
And  sent  an  army  o'er  the  Tweed 

To  wrap  the  Border  braes  in  flame  — 
Then  Scotland  would  have  risen  indeed. 

And  followed  me,  if  but  for  shame  ! 

1  might  have  met  the  foe  in  field. 

And  raised  the  Hepburn's  name  so  high, 
That  none  thenceforward  on  my  shield 

Could  trace  the  bend  of  infamy. 
I  might  have  won  the  people's  heart. 

For  all  men  love  the  stalwart  arm  ; 
And  valor  triumphs  over  art, 

As  heroes  burst  a  wizard's  charm. 
Once  victor  o'er  my  country's  foes. 
What  lord  in  Scotland  durst  oppose 
Her  champion's  rights,  or  mutter  shame 
Against  my  newly-gilded  name. 
All  radiant  with  the  gloss  of  fame  ? 
Nor  to  the  preachers  had  I  turned 
Disdainful  ear.     I  never  spurned 


BOTHWELL.  155 

Their  doctrines,  though  I  did  not  care, 
And  knew  not  what  those  doctrines  were. 
In  truth,  I  thought  the  time  had  come 

When  every  state  in  Europe  wide 
Should  clear  itself  from  bonds  of  Rome, 

And  let  the  Pontiff,  deified, 
Deal  with  the  candle,  book,  and  bell. 
In  any  way  that  pleased  him  well ! 

VI. 

Men  say  the  hills  of  Rome  ai'e  high  — 

They  are  not  loftier  than  our  own ; 
Let  good  Saint  Peter's  follower  try 

How  far  his  curses  can  be  blown. 
Loud  must  his  ghostly  thunder  be 
To  roll  so  wide  o'er  land  and  sea ! 
Our  fathers  in  their  desperate  fight 
For  Scotland's  freedom  and  her  right  — 
When  lay  the  valiant  on  their  shields 
As  thick  as  sheaves  in  autumn  fields, 
When,  in  the  raging  battle- tide. 

The  banners  of  the  foemen  sunk  — 
Gave  not  their  blood  to  swell  the  pride, 

Or  back  the  cause  of  Roman  monk  ! 
I  would  have  left  the  people  free 

To  frame  their  worship  at  their  wdll^ 
To  utter  chaunt,  or  psalmody, 

In  kirk  or  abbey,  glen  or  hill. 
Preacher  and  priest  alike  should  stand, 

Have  leave  alike  to  teach  and  pray. 


156  BOTHWELL. 

So  that  tliey  owned  the  King's  command, 
Nor  wandered  widely  from  their  way  ; 

For  woe  betide  the  luckless  land 

Where  bigot  churchmen  bear  the  sway  ! 


But  England  moved  not.    England  lay, 

As  doth  the  lion  in  the  brake. 
When  Avaiting  for  some  noble  prey, 

With  car  intent  and  eye  awake : 
I,  like  a  wretched  mongrel  cur, 

Might  safely  pass  his  couch  before  ; 
Not  for  my  snarling  would  he  stir  — 

I  was  not  worth  the  lion's  roar  ! 
The  courtiers  left  me  ;  one  by  one, 

Like  shadows  did  they  glide  away ; 
My  old  confederates  all  were  gone  — 

Why  should  the  fortune-hunters  stay  ? 

VIII. 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  space  : 

A  hush,  as  deep  and  still 
As  on  the  lowly  valley  lies. 
When  clouds,  surcharged  with  lightning,  rise. 

And  loom  along  the  hill. 
Then  with  a  rush,  the  rumors  came 

Of  gatherings  near  at  hand, 
Where  nobles,  knights,  and  chiefs  of  fame 
Were  arming  in  the  Prince's  name, 

To  drive  me  from  the  land  ! 


BOTHWELL.  157 

And  straightway  through  the  city  rose 

The  low  and  angry  hum, 
That  tells  of  keen  and  bitter  foes 

Who  cluster  ere  they  come. 
Post  after  post  rode  clattering  in, 
Loud  rung  the  court  with  soldiers'  din  ; 
For  Bolton  at  the  first  alarm 
Bade  all  the  troopers  rise  and  arm. 


Aroused  as  if  by  trumpet-call, 

I  felt  my  spirit  bound  ; 
No  longer  pent  in  hateful  hall, 
Now  must  I  forth  to  fight  or  fall. 

With  men-at-arms  around. 
I  cared  not  what  the  scouts  might  bring  - 

I  hungered  for  the  strife  ; 
When  victor,  I  must  reign  as  King  : 

If  vanquished,  yield  my  life. 
With  spear  in  rest  and  visor  down, 

'Twas  but  one  mad  career  — 
A  glorious  grave,  or  else  a  crown  — 

The  sceptre  or  the  bier  ! 
Aha  !   there  was  no  tarrying  then  ! 
For  prance  of  steed,  and  tramp  of  men, 
And  clash  of  arms,  and  hasty  call. 
Were  heard  in  court,  and  street,  and  hall. 
Each  trooper  drew  a  heartier  breath, 

And  keener  glowed  his  eye  ; 


158  BOTIIWELL, 

I  knew  that  from  the  field  of  death 
No  man  of  mine  would  fly  ! 


"  Give  me  your  hand,  brave  Ormiston  ! 

My  father  loved  you  dear  ! 
Not  better  than  you  love  his  son  — 
For  since  the  day  that  I  could  run, 

Or  shake  a  mimic  spear, 
You  were  my  guardian  and  my  guide, 
And  never  jiarted  from  my  side 

In  danger,  doubt,  or  fear. 
Since  then,  old  friend,  Ave've  held  our  course 

Together  on  a  slippery  way  ; 
And  I  might  tell  you  of  remorse  — 

But  not  to-day  —  no,  not  to-day  ! 
There  —  let  me  feel  that  grasp  again  ! 
I  know  not  why,  but  I  am  fain 
To  utter  more  than  suits  the  time. 
Ambition  ever  leads  to  crime  ; 

And  there's  a  forfeit  all  must  pay. 
Out  on  these  thoughts  !     They  cleave  to  me 

More  closely  than  beseems  the  brave  : 
So  —  let  the  past  forgotten  be, 

We'll  lay  it  in  the  grave  ! 


"  Now  then  ;  what  news  ?"  "  This  much  I  learn, 
That  Morton,  Atholl,  and  Glcncairn, 


BOTHWELL.  159' 

Lindsay  and  Home,  Kirkaldy,  Mar,, 
Drumlanrig,  Cessford,  raise  the  war,. 
And  yesterday  arrayed  their  powers  — 
Not  greater,  say  the  scouts,  than  ours  — 
Upon  a  plain  near  Stirling's  towers. 
There  may  be  more  ;  but  these  I  know 
Are  drawn  against  us."     "  Is  it  so  ? 
If  it  be  mine,  but  once,  to  tread 
Victorious  on  a  field  of  dead, 
I'll  have  that  villain  Morton's  head  ! 
Atholl  ?     It  is  a  monstrous  sign, 
When  Atholl  and  Glencairn  combine  : 
The  friend  of  Rome,  the  preachers'  boast, 
Together  in  that  motley  host ! 
Ah,  now  I  see  it !  Lethington, 
That  axcli  dissembler,  stirs  him  on, 
My  evil  genius,  and  my  foe  — 
Fool  that  I  was  to  let  him  go ! 
A  cell  in  yonder  fortress  grim. 
Had  been  the  fit  abode  for  him. 
What  do  the  townsfolk  ?     Much  I  fear 
The  knaves  may  breed  some  tumult  here." 


"  If  I  have  read  their  faces  right. 

My  life  on't,  they  will  rise  to-night ! 

Closed  are  the  booths,  the  windows  barred 

In  every  street  patrols  a  guard. 

The  ports  are  watched  ;  men  hurry  by. 

None  stop  for  question  or  reply. 


160  BOTHAVELL. 

The  dullest  bailie  could  not  find 
An  audience  to  relieve  his  mind. 
When  angry  men  are  brief  or  mute, 
Be  sure  that  mischief  is  on  foot  ! 
A  look,  a  nod,  a  sign  from  each, 
Are  graver  tokens  far  than  speech. 
I  am  not  wont  to  shun  a  fray, 

And  seldom  give  a  faint  advice, 
But  this  most  frankly  do  I  say  — 

I'd  rather  ride  the  Tcviot  thrice, 
When  rolling  in  its  heaviest  flood. 
Than  meet  that  angry  multitude  ! 
Our  men  are  trained  to  fight  in  field, 

But  here  they  have  no  skill  nor  space : 
Let's  quit  the  Palace ;  for  to  yield, 

If  leaguered  here,  were  sore  disgrace. 
Nor  have  we  any  force  to  spare  ; 
And  time  is  wanting  to  prepare. 
Forthwith  the  messengers  must  ride. 
And  scour  the  country  far  and  wide, 
To  bring  our  allies  to  your  side. 
Were  all  the  Border  chieftains  true, 
I'd  care  not  what  the  rest  might  do. 
I  knew  tliat  soon  the  strife  must  come  — 
That  stout  Kirkaldy  would  not  sleep. 
Nor  Morton  tarry  in  his  keep  — 
But  this  revolt  of  Ker  and  Home 
Hath  changed  the  aspect  of  the  war  : 

Therefore  let's  forth  without  delay. 
Our  trysting-place  must  be  Dunbar, 

With  Borthwick  on  the  way. 


BOTHWELL.  161 


"  Short  space  is  left ;  for,  ere  the  night, 

We  must  decamp,  though  not  in  flight ; 

The  craftsmen  will  be  more  afraid 

An  empty  palace  to  invade. 

Than  if  each  window  showed  a  man 

Prepared  with  pike  and  partisan. 

But,  meanwhile,  send  the  heralds  through. 

The  Hamiltons  are  surely  true  — 

Entreat,  command  them  to  appear, 

Nor  leave  behind  one  idle  spear  ; 

We  cannot  spare  a  straggler  here. 

Make  the  Queen  write  —  you  know  the  way  — 

A  wife  her  husband  must  obey. 

There's  something  in  the  royal  name, 

If  not  to  rouse,  at  least  to  tame  ; 

And  men  who  fain  would  see  you  down, 

May  fear  to  rise  against  the  Crown. 

Seton  and  Tester  both  will  fight, 

Without  a  call  for  Mary's  right  ; 

And  many  a  Baron  bold  will  come 

Soon  as  they  hear  the  signal-drum. 

We'll  beat  them  yet !     But  have  a  care  — 

No  speech — no  treaty  —  naught  but  blows  ! 
Of  that  dark  Lethington  beware. 

The  worst  and  wiliest  of  your  foes. 
And  Morton  —  hear  no  word  from  him  ! 

No  quaking  moss  is  more  unsound  ; 


16?  BOTHAVELL.  l 

He'd  venture  all  but  life  and  limb 

To  bring  your  greatness  to  the  ground. 
Let  him,  if  he  has  aught  to  say, 
Stand  forth  in  front  of  his  array. 
And  from  his  hehnet  speak  the  word 
That  can  be  answered  by  the  sword. 
Come  then,  away  !     'Tis  hard  to  go, 
Old  Holyrood  is  worth  a  blow  ; 
Yet  is  it  wiser  to  abstain. 
Worse  danger  threats  the  roof  than  rain  ; 
And,  by  my  soul,  'twere  sin  and  shame, 
To  leave  it  wrapped  in  fiery  flame ! 
Forth  then !  and  ere  the  sky  be  dark, 

Some  safer  lodging  shall  we  find  ; 
We'll  change  the  cricket  for  the  lark. 
And  leave  this  troublous  town  behind." 

XIV. 

I  know  not  why  :  but  o'er  my  soul, 
That  eve,  the  self-same  bodemeut  stole 
That  thrilled  me  with  a  sad  ])resage 
When  last  I  gazed  on  Hermitage. 
The  troopers  in  procession  wound, 
Along  the  slant  and  broken  ground. 
Beneath  old  Arthur's  lion-hill. 
The  Queen  went  onward  witli  her  train ; 
I  rode  not  by  her  palfrey's  rein, 
But  lingered  at  the  tiny  rill 

That  flows  from  Anton's  fane. 
Red  was  the  sky  ;  but  Holyrood 
In  dusk  and  sullen  trrandeur  stood. 


BOTHWELL.  163 

It  seemed  as  though  the  setting  sun 

Refused  to  lend  it  light, 
So  cheerless  was  its  look,  and  dun. 

While  all  ahove  was  bright. 
Black  in  the  glare  rose  spire  and  vane, 
No  lustre  streamed  from  window-pane  ; 
But,  as  I  stood,  the  Abbey  bell 
Tolled  out,  with  such  a  dismal  knell 
As  smites  with  awe  the  shuddering  crowd, 
When  a  king 's  folded  in  his  shroud  — 

Methought  it  said.  Farewell  I 


XV. 

So  passed  we  on.     The  month  was  June  : 

We  did  not  need  the  lady  moon 

To  light  us  onward  on  our  way 

Through  thickets  white  with  hawthorn  spray ; 

Past  old  Dalhousie's  stately  tower. 

Up  the  lone  Esk,  across  the  moor. 

By  many  a  hamlet,  many  a  spring. 

By  holt,  and  knowe,  and  fairy  ring, 

By  many  a  noted  trysting-place. 

We  held  our  course,  nor  slacked  our  pace. 

Till  far  away  beyond  the  road 

The  lights  in  Borthwick  Castle  showed. 

Short  tarrying  had  we  there,  I  ween  ! 

Again  we  sought  the  woodlands  green, 

For  fiery  Home  was  on  our  track, 

With  thousand  spearmen  at  his  back  : 


164  BOTH"\VELL.  PARI 

Nor  dared  we  rest,  till  from  Dunbar 
I  gave  the  signal  for  the  war. 

XVI. 

By  heaven,  it  was  a  glorious  sight, 

When  the  sun  started  from  the  sea. 
And  in  the  vivid  morning  lisrht 

The  long  blue  waves  were  rolling  free  ! 
But  little  time  had  I  to  gaze 
Upon  the  ocean's  kindling  face. 
Or  mark  the  breakers  in  the  bay  — 
For  other  thoughts  were  mine  that  day. 
I  stood  upon  the  topmost  tower : 
From  wood,  and  shaw,  and  brake,  and  bower, 
I  heard  the  trumpet's  blithesome  sound, 

I  heard  the  tuck  of  drum  ; 
And,  bearing  from  the  castle  mound, 

I  saw  the  squadrons  come. 
Each  Baron,  sheathed  from  head  to  heel 
In  glorious  panoply  of  steel. 
Rode  stalwartly  before  his  band. 
The  bravest  yeomen  of  the  land. 
There  were  the  pennons  that  in  fight 
Had  flashed  across  the  Southron's  sight  — 
There  were  the  spears  that  bore  the  brunt, 
And  bristled  in  the  battle's  front 

On  many  a  bloody  day  — 
The  swords,  that  through  the  hostile  press, 
"When  steeds  were  plunging  masterlcss. 

Had  hewn  their  desperate  way  ! 


BOTHAYELL.  165 

0  gallant  hearts  !  what  joy  to  ride, 
Your  lord  and  leader,  prince  and  guide, 
"With  you  around  me  and  beside, 

But  once  in  battle  fray  ! 

XVII. 

Brief  counsel  held  we  in  the  hall  : 
Ready  for  fight  seemed  one  and  all. 
Though  somewhat  was  I  chafed  to  bear 
But  cold  regard  from  knight  and  peer. 

1  was  the  husband  of  their  Queen : 
Not  less,  nor  more.     Old  Seton's  mien 
Was  graver  than  beseemed  a  lord 

Who  came,  prepared  with  hand  and  sword, 
To  smite  rebellion  to  the  dust. 
To  me  he  never  gave  his  trust. 
He  was  a  noble  of  a  stamp 

Whereof  this  age  hath  witnessed  few  ; 
Men  who  came  duly  to  the  camp. 

Whene'er  the  royal  trumpet  blew. 
Blunt  tenure-lords,  who  for  the  Crown 
Would  lay  their  lives  and  fortunes  down, 
Nor  sift  the  cause  that  bade  them  bring 
Their  vassals  to  support  the  King. 
Such  men  were  they  who  held  the  fight. 

And  strove,  and  would  not  yield. 
Till  rushed  from  heaven  the  stai-s  of  night 

O'er  Flodden's  cumbered  field. 
For  Mary's  sake  he  brought  his  band. 

He  cared  for  her  alone ; 


166  BOTH  WELL. 

And  would  not  lend  a  helping  hand 

To  lift  me  to  the  throne. 
His  words  were  spare,  his  greeting  cold, 
His  look  as  distant  as  of  old. 
But  that  I  could  not  then  afford 
To  lose  a  man  or  spare  a  sword ; 

But  that  my  friends  were  few  — 
I  would  have  made  Lord  Seton  know 
That  not  a  peer  should  slight  me  so, 

Or  fail  in  reverence  due  ! 


XVIII. 

And  Mary  —  what  did  she  the  while  ? 
Alas,  she  never  showed  a  smile  ! 
I  dared  not  ask  her  to  appear 

Within  the  castle  hall, 
Her  champions  and  her  knights  to  cheer- 
She  might  have  hailed  them  with  a  tear, 
Or  breathed  a  word  in  Seton's  car. 

That  would  have  wrought  my  fall. 
She  loathed  her  bondage  —  that  I  knew. 
What  is  it  woman  will  not  do 

To  free  herself  from  thrall  ? 
She,  daughter  of  a  race  of  kings, 

Instinct  with  that  desire 
Which  makes  the  eagle  beat  its  wings 

Against  the  prison  wire  — 
She,  wronged,  insulted,  and  betrayed. 
Might  she  not  claim  her  vassals'  aid  ? 


BOTHWEXL.  16" 

Conjure  tliem  by  their  oath  and  vows 
To  bear  her  from  her  hated  spouse. 
And  in  the  face  of  heaven,  proclaim 
My  guilt,  my  treason,  and  my  shame  ? 
Too  great  the  risk  !     My  sister  came  — 

Well  skilled  was  she  to  turn  a  phrase, 
A  ready,  apt,  quick-witted  dame, 

Who  knew  the  nobles  and  their  ways. 
Freely  she  smiled,  and  deftly  spoke. 

Gave  cordial  greeting  from  the  Queen, 
Whose  slumbers  had  been  early  broke 

By  tramp  of  horses  on  the  green  — 
"  Her  Majesty  had  need  of  rest 

To  fit  her  for  the  road  ; 
But  prayed  each  knight  and  noble  guest 

Who  honored  her  abode. 
To  take  the  thanks  so  greatly  due 
For  all  their  service  prompt  and  true." 


Another  morn  —  another  day  !  — 

And  what,  ere  dusk,  was  I  ? 
A  fugitive,  a  castaway, 
A  recreant  knight  who  did  not  stay 

On  battle-field  to  die  ! 
Curs'd  be  the  hands  that  held  me  back 
When  death  lay  ready  in  my  track, 
Curs'd  be  the  slaves  who  turned  my  rein 
And  forced  me  panting  from  the  plain  !  — 


168  BOTHAVELL. 

O  boaster,  liar,  murderer  —  worse. 
Traitor  and  felon  —  hold  thy  curse  ! 
Curse  not,  for  lost  though  others  be, 
There's  none  so  deep  debased  as  thee  ! 
A  murderer  may  be  strong  of  heart, 
A  liar  act  a  warrior's  part, 
A  traitor  may  be  bold  and  brave, 
A  felon  fearless  at  the  grave  — 
Branded,  condemned,  of  fame  bereft, 
The  courage  of  a  man  is  left. 
But  coward  —  O  that  sickening  sound  I 
Great  God !  To  pass  without  a  wound. 
Without  one  shivered  spear  or  blow, 
From  such  a  field,  from  such  a  foe. 
To  lose  a  Queen  and  kingdom  so  — 
To  tremble,  shrink,  and  vilely  fly  — 
It  was  not  I !  —  it  was  not  I ! 


O  breeze  !  that  blowest  from  the  west. 
O'er  that  dear  land  I  loved  the  best  — 
Breathe  on  my  temples,  cool  my  brow, 
And  keep  the  madness  from  me  now  ! 
Blood  seems  to  rankle  in  my  eyes, 
lied  as  a  furnace  glare  the  skies ; 
And  all  things  waver  up  and  down, 
Like  shadows  in  a  burning  town. 
There's  hellish  laughter  in  mine  ear  — 
More  air  —  niore  air  !     1  stifle  here  ! 


BOTHWELL.  1G9 


XXI. 

Devil !  thou  shalt  not  yet  pre\'ail ; 
Before  thy  face  I  will  not  quail ! 
I  fled —  Do  brave  men  never  fly? 
I  am  no  coward  —  'tis  a  lie  ! 
I  stood  upon  Carben-y's  height, 
Eager,  intent,  resolved  to  fight. 
Ay,  to  the  death,  as  seems  a  knight ! 
Down  on  the  plain,  beyond  the  hill. 
The  foe  were  motionless  and  still. 
Why  tarried  so  the  rebel  lords  ? 
"Were  we  not  ready  with  our  swords  ? 
They  came  not  on  with  shield  and  targe, 
And  lances  levelled  for  the  charge  ; 
But  safe  in  summer  ambush  lay. 
Like  children  on  a  holiday. 


I  sent  a  message  to  their  van  — 

The  Laird  of  Grange  that  challenge  bore, 

I  spared  his  life  an  hour  before  — 

I  bade  them  choose  their  bravest  man. 

My  equal  in  degree  ; 
So  that  we  two  alone  might  try 
The  cast  for  death  or  victory. 

And  all  the  rest  go  free. 
No  braggart  speech  was  that  of  mine. 
My  blood  had  flowed,  ere  then,  like  wine, 
11 


170 


BOTHWELL. 


In  fiercer  combat  and  more  fell 
Than  any  Scottish  peer  could  tell. 
I,  who  had  laid  John  Elliot  low, 
Need  scarce  have  feared  another  foe  ! 


Rare  answer  to  my  call  they  gave  — 

0  they  were  noble  hearts  and  brave ! 
First,  Tullibardine  offered  fight. 

He  was  at  best  a  simple  knight, 
Without  a  claim,  without  a  right 

To  meet  a  prince  like  me. 
He  was  no  mate  in  camp  or  hall ; 

1  stood  not  there  to  fight  with  all 

Whatever  their  degree. 
"I  dare  not  then,"  Kirkaldy  said, 
"  To  take  this  quarrel  on  my  head. 
If  Tullibardine  ranks  too  low 
To  hold  your  challenge  as  a  foe. 

No  better  claim  have  I. 
Yet,  would  the  Duke  of  Orkney  deign 
To  meet  mc  yonder  on  the  plain 

And  there  his  fortune  try, 
I  cannot  think  that  any  stain 

Upon  his  name  would  lie. 
It  has  been  mine,  ere  now,  to  ride 
In  battle  front  by  Princes'  side  ; 
With  Kgmont  I  have  broke  a  lance, 
Charged  with  the  Constable  of  France, 


BOTIIAVELL.  171 

And  sate  at  council  and  at  board 

With  many  a  famous  chief  and  lord " 

Then  Ormiston  broke  in  :  — 
"  Baron  of  Grange  !     No  need  to  tell 
A  story  that  we  know  full  well : 

For  never  Scot  did  win 
More  fame  than  you  in  foreign  field  ; 
And  proudly  might  you  bear  your  shield 
In  front  of  Europe's  best  array, 
But  for  your  treason  of  to-day. 
Aha  !  you  startle  at  the  word ! 
Here  am  I  ready  with  my  sword 

To  prove  it,  if  you  dare  ! 
I  am  your  equal  —  Will  you  fight  ? 
I  stand  in  arms  for  Mary's  right  — 
Do  this,  and  I"ll  forgive  you  quite, 

Rank  traitor  as  you  are  !  " 

XXIV. 

A  flush  came  o'er  Kirkaldy's  face. 
Nor  spoke  he  for  a  little  space. 

But  then  he  answered  cold  :  — 
"  Ready,  though  rough,  is  thy  rebuke  ; 
I  was  in  fault  to  urge  the  Duke. 

And  yet,  were  he  as  bold 
As  one  at  least  that  I  could  name. 
He  might  have  deigned,  for  very  shame, 

To  set  his  rank  aside. 


172  BOTHWELL. 

If,  Ormiston,  we  chance  to  meet, 
A  gallant  foeman  shall  I  greet 

In  rolling  battle-tide. 
But  vain  it  were  for  you  and  I 
In  single  fight  our  strength  to  try. 
Your  death  or  mine  could  not  affect 

The  issue  of  the  day  : 
So,  not  in  anger,  but  respect. 

Sir  Knight,  I  turn  away  ! 
What  more  remains  ? " 

XXV, 

I  could  not  bear 
His  calm,  composed,  contemptuous  air ! 
Save  Lethington's,  of  all  that  host 
I  feared  Kirkaldy's  presence  most. 
Already  once  had  Mary  sent, 
And  communed  with  him  in  her  tent. 
That  meeting  was  not  by  my  will ; 
I  should  have  stopped  him  on  the  hill ; 
For  he  was  subtile,  Avise,  and  keen. 
The  very  man  to  sway  the  Queen. 
"  All  this,"  I  said,  "  is  vain  pretext ! 
What  knight  or  squire  shall  follow  next  ? 
Must  I  do  battle  hand  to  hand 
With  some  stark  yeoman  of  your  band  ? 
Or,  for  your  sport,  lay  spear  in  rest 
Against  some  trooper  from  the  west  ? 
Go  —  say  to  Morton  and  to  Mar, 
I  strained  my  courtesy  too  far 


BOTHWELL.  173 

In  tliat  I  sent  my  battle-gage 

To  every  rebel  peer. 
Perchance  their  prudence  cools  their  rage^ 

Or  else  they  did  not  hear  ! 
Brave  leaders  have  you,  Laird  of  Grange  -»^ 
I  wish  you  joy.  Sir,  of  the  change  ! 
Here  might  I  tarry  for  a  week, 

And  never  find  a  foe. 
The  friends  in  France  of  whom  you  speak 

Had  scarcely  lingered  so  ! 
There  stand  your  chiefs  before  our  eyes ; 
Each  Lord  my  challenge  underlies, 

Yet  none  will  venture  here  ! 
Kirkaldy  !  wherefore  should  you  try 
To  shelter  with  your  chivalry 

These  cowards'  abject  fear  ? 
If  I  refuse  to  meet  you  now% 

I  mean  nor  slight  nor  scorn  ; 
Your  valor,  worth,  and  deeds  I  know  — 
Ay,  better  than  the  men  below  — 

Your  bad  revolt  I  mourn. 


"  Go  back  —  and  tell  them  I  revoke 
The  general  challenge  that  I  spoke. 
Say,  that  I  now  demand  the  right. 
Open  to  every  peer  and  knight, 
To  call  his  equal  to  the  field. 
Say,  that  I  smite  on  Morton's  shield ! 


174  BOTHWELL. 

If  he  refuse,  through  Europe  wide 

I'll  brand  him  as  a  recreant  knave  — 
If  he  comes  forth,  the  quarrel's  tried. 

For  one  or  both  shall  find  a  grave. 
And  now,  God  speed  you  !  go  your  way  : 
I  have  no  other  word  to  say. 
If  Morton  is  so  faint  of  heart 
That  he  prefers  the  coward's  part, 

Why  let  the  fight  begin ! 
Here  stand  two  armies  in  array. 
For  them  to  waste  a  summer's  day 
In  boasting  words  and  vain  display. 

Were  infamy  and  sin." 

XXVII. 

Glad  was  I  when  he  turned  his  sterd 
And  slowly  paced  towards  the  mead, 
Where,  round  a  standard  whose  device 

I  could  not  scan  so  far, 
Lay  stretched  in  sluggards'  paradise. 

The  leaders  of  the  war. 
"  What  think  you,  Ormiston,  my  friend, 

Will  Morton  do  me  right  ? 
Or  will  he,  like  a  craven,  send 

Some  other  peer  to  fight?  " 

XXVIII. 

"  What  think  I  ?     That  the  rebels  know 
Better  than  you,  to  crush  their  foe  ! 


BOTHWELL.  175 

Curse  on  that  old  fantastic  fool, 

The  Frenchman,  whom  I  went  to  guard  ! 
Had  he  not  e3'es  to  see  the  pool. 

Or  feet  to  bear  him  o'er  the  sward  ? 
He  kept  me  severed  from  your  side 

When  most  you  needed  care  ; 
And  now  your  rashness  and  your  pride 

Have  cast  you  in  the  snare  ! 
My  Lord,  my  Lord !     I  tell  you  here. 
This  knightly  freak  may  cost  you  dear  ! 
"Was  this  a  time  to  vent  your  spite 
By  calling  jMorton  forth  to  fight  ? 
Or  worse,  by  pledging  faith  and  word 
To  tilt  with  any  brainless  lord  ? 
Why,  the  mere  offer  on  your  part 
Shows  that  your  friends  are  faint  of  heart : 
For  never  leader  of  a  host 

On  which  he  dared  rely. 
Unless  he  deemed  his  fortune  lost, 
Would  peril  for  an  empty  boast 

The  chance  of  victory. 
And  they  are  faint :   and  fainter  still 

You''ll  find  them  at  the  dawn, 
If  sets  the  sun  behind  the  hill 

Before  the  swords  are  drawn ! 
What  said  Kirkaldy  to  the  Queen  ? 
I  hear  there  has  been  speech  between. 
And  are  you  not,  my  Lord,  afraid 
That,  even  now,  you  stand  betrayed  ? 


176  BOTH  WELL. 

Yon  pining  captive  hath  not  shown 

Such  liking  to  her  range, 
That  I  would  trust  her,  all  alone. 

To  speak  with  one  like  Grange  ? 
I  prate  too  much.     One  chance  is  ours  — 
Let  me,  this  instant,  form  our  powers. 
I'll  place  old  Seton  in  the  van  — 

I  trust  him  not  to-day  — 
And  send  hchind  a  Border  clan, 

To  goad  him  to  the  fray. 
Forego  your  challenge  —  strike  the  drum  ! 
And  when  the  rebels  see  us  come, 
As  comes  a  river,  red  and  large, 
It  may  be  they  will  shun  the  charge. 
Upon  them  now,  with  sword  and  lance  — 
Believe  me,  'tis  our  only  chance  I  " 


"  I  cannot  do  it  —  for  my  word 

Is  pledged  and  passed ;  I  needs  must  wait. 
"  You  ?     Are  we  nothing  here,  my  Lord  ? 

Care  you  so  little  for  our  fate  ? 
I  have  some  reverence  for  my  neck, 
And  will  not  risk  it  at  your  beck ! 
Hearken  I  you  know  my  way  of  old  — 
Best  is  the  truth  when  bluntly  told. 
This  day  our  lives  arc  set  at  stake  : 

You  arc  not  al)le  to  command  — 
Let  mc  the  whole  disposal  take. 

Or  else,  by  heaven,  I  quit  your  baud  ! 


EOTHWELL.  177 

Look  not  aghast  !     There's  no  retreat 

For  you  or  me.     This  very  day 
You  must  ascend  the  royal  seat, 

Or  perish  as  a  castaway  ! 
Then  wait  not,  like  a  fettered  bear. 

Till  some  stout  mastiff  slips  his  chain  ! 
Give  me  the  order  to  prepare  : 

I'll  drive  them  from  the  plain.  — 
But  who  spurs  hither  ?     Bolton  !     Well, 

What  brings  you  from  your  post?  " 
*'  Come  up  !  I  cannot  stay  to  tell  — 

Come  up,  or  all  is  lost ! 
The  troopers  murmur.     On  the  green 

They  pile  their  arms,  and  say 
Without  an  order  from  the  Queen, 

They  will  not  fight  to-day. 
The  Queen's  with  Seton  in  her  tent ! 
And,  more  than  once,  has  message  sent 
Down  to  the  rebel  camp  below  — 
Marchmont  is  with  them  even  now." 

XXX. 

"Enough!  Go  back;  we'll  follow  straight  — 

Now  is  the  crisis  of  our  fate  ! 

Say  but  the  word,  and,  with  my  band, 

I'll  do  what  mortal  can; 
Ride  up  with  me  !     Take  sword  in  hand, 

And  bear  you  like  a  man ! 
Better  to  die  with  helm  on  head. 

Than  mount  a  scaffold  grim  — 


17S  BOTII"\VELL. 

"Why  —  you  are  paler  than  the  dead, 

You  shake  in  every  limb  ! 
Are  you  the  man  who  went  so  far 
At  Kirk-of-field,  and  at  Dunbar, 
And  shrink  you  from  the  face  of  war  ? 
Why  stand  you  here  as  on  parade  ? 
By  heaven  —  I  think  the  Duke's  afraid  ! 
If  it  be  so,  then  fare  you  well  ! 

Now,  shall  we  onwards  go  ? 
Each  moment  is  a  passing-bell  — 

'Sdeath  !  answer,  yes  or  no!  " 


"  I  tarry  here !  "     "  God  help  thee  then  • 

I'll  see  thy  face  no  more ! 
Like  water  spilt  upon  the  plain 
Not  to  be  gathered  up  again 

Is  the  old  love  I  bore. 
Best  I  forget  thee,  Bothwell !     Yet 
'Tis  not  so  easy  to  forget ; 
For  at  the  latest  hour,  I  see 
I've  lost  a  life  in  following  thee. 
Faint-hearted  now  ?     Alas,  for  shame  ! 
To  bring  disgrace  on  such  a  name  — 

But  wherefore  should  I  chide  ? 
Sec  —  yonder  comes  Kirkaldy  back. 

With  Marchmont  at  his  side. 
Now,  sir  ;  since  other  aid  you  lack, 

Make  him  your  friend  and  guide. 


BOTHWELL.  179 

He's  honest,  brave,  a  gonerous  foe  — 
It  may  be  he  will  let  you  go 

If  you  bespeak  him  fair  ! 
Friends,  fortune,  fame,  a  crown  are  lost, 
By  you,  the  captain  of  a  host, 

And  not  a  blade  is  bare  ! 
Saint  Andrew  !   what  a  scurvy  tale 
To  carry  back  to  Teviotdale  ! 
Farewell,  thou  weak  and  wavering  lord  — 
Farewell  —  it  is  my  latest  word  !  " 


He  parted,  like  a  flash  of  fire  ; 

He  spurred  his  courser  up  the  hill ; 
My  friend,  the  follower  of  my  sire, 

The  man  whom  I  had  trusted  still ! 
What  spell  was  on  me,  that  1  stayed, 

Nor  tried  the  chance  of  war  ? 
Ah!  —  she,  the  injured  and  betrayed, 

The  captive  of  Dunbar  — 
I  did  not  dare  to  face  her  then. 
Before  Lord  Seton  and  his  men ! 
Then  came  Kiikaldy,  riding  slow  — 
"  Well,  sir  ;   what  message  bring  you  now  ? 
Will  Morton  come  ?     Though  somewhat  late, 
You  see  his  answer  still  I  wait." 

XXXIII. 

"  My  Lord  —  the  message  that  I  bear 
Comes  from  the  peers  assembled  there. 


180  BOTHWELL.  pj 

M)-  charge  is  only  to  the  Queen, 

Whose  herald  has  been  sent ; 
Therefore  no  words  can  pass  between, 

Save  in  the  royal  tent. 
But  this  'tis  mine  to  say,  my  Lord ; 
I  gave  your  challenge,  word  for  word. 
The  answer,  sent  unto  your  Grace, 
I'll  speak  before  my  Sovereign's  face." 
"  Why  not  to  me  ? "     "  Because  they  deem 

One  answer  will  suffice  ; 
Because  they  hold  the  Queen  supreme, 

And  know  her  just  and  wise ; 
Because,  before  a  life  is  lost. 
For  which,  as  leaders  of  the  host. 

They  must  account  to  God, 
Most  surely  are  they  bound  to  say 
Why  thus,  in  masterful  array. 

They  bar  tha  royal  road. 
Nay  more  ;  because  the  Queen's  command, 

Not  yours,  has  brought  me  here  : 
Therefore  your  challenge  needs  must  stand 
Unanswered,  till  the  Lords'  demand 

Shall  reach  her  Hiuhncss'  ear. 


XXXIV. 

"  Herald  !  withdraw  a  little  space  — 
Now  list  to  me,  my  Lord ! 

As  truly  as  I  hope  for  grace, 
I  pledge  my  faith  and  word, 


BOTHWELL.  181 

That,  if  you  do  not  take  your  fliglit 
Forthwith,  and  seek  this  very  night 

Some  distant  hold  or  room, 
You  die  !     But  not  in  open  fight ; 

The  scaffold  is  your  doom. 
There  is  no  chance  of  battle  now  — 
There  never  was  —  for  all  avow, 
Both  yours  and  ours,  the  same  intent. 
To  free  her  Highness  from  restraint. 
Beside  your  own  retainers,  few 
If  any,  there,  will  strike  for  you. 
I  love  you  not :  but  loth  Avere  I, 

Whate'er  your  deeds  have  been, 
To  see  a  Scottish  noble  die 
A  death  of  shame  and  infamy  ; 
And  more,  because  he  stood  so  high. 

The  husband  of  my  Queen. 
Therefore  beware  !     This  much  I  say 

To  you,  as  man  to  man. 
Think  of  it :   make  no  long  delay. 

Take  warning  while  you  can. 
If  you  are  armed  in  innocence. 

Your  answer  may  be  strong ; 
But  here,  at  least,  is  no  defence. 
And  now  my  duty  calls  me  hence  ; 

Wilt  please  you  pass  along  ?" 


Had  the  earth  yawned,  the  thunder  crashed, 
Or  had  the  bolts  of  lightning  flashed, 


182  BOTIIWELL. 

And  light  before  mc  broke  ; 
I  had  not  felt  more  deep  abashed 

Than  when  Kirkakly  spoke. 
I  went  —  God  help  me,  how  I  went  !  — 
A  culprit,  up  to  Mary's  tent : 

No  eyes  were  fixed  on  me. 
All  looked  upon  the  Laird  of  Grange, 
As  if,  throughout  broad  Scotland's  range, 

Was  none  so  great  as  he. 


XXXVI. 

There  was  more  life  in  Mary's  face. 
More  spirit,  dignity,  and  grace. 
Than  I  had  marked  for  many  a  day. 
Ikhind  hor,  in  their  steel  array, 
Seton  and  Yester  gravely  stood  : 
Their  presence  boded  little  good. 

No  friends  of  mine  were  they. 
Then  thus  Kirkaldy  she  addressed  :  — 
"  Since,  Laird  of  Grange,  you  still  protest 

That  duty  to  the  crown, 
Which  fits  a  loyal  subject  best  — 

Now  make  your  message  known. 
What  seek  my  Lords  ?  "     Then  answered  he, 
"  They  come  to  set  your  Highness  free  ! 
Your  pardon  —  though  the  Duke  be  here, 

I  must  speak  boldly  on. 
They  hold  him  as  a  traitor  peer, 

To  you  and  to  your  son  —  " 


BOXnWELL.  183 

Fierce  I  exclaimed  ;  —  "  Dare  tboy  deny 

The  solemn  Band  they  gave  ! 
By  heaven,  such  weight  of  infamy 

Shoidd  sink  them  to  the  grave  ! 
Did  they  not  say  that  I  alone 
Was  the  fit  man  to  guard  the  throne  ? 
Is  nothing  written  in  the  Band 
Of  Bothwell's  claim  to  Mary's  hand  ? 
Have  faith  and  honor  left  the  land?  " 


"  I  well  believe,"  Kirkaldy  said, 

"  That  such  a  dangerous  Band  was  made, 

But  that  avails  not  now. 
Though  every  peer  had  influence  lent, 
There  still  remained  the  Queen's  consent, 

And  when  spoke  she  the  vow  ? 
Not  until  you,  by  force  of  war, 
Had  ta'en  her  Highness  to  Dunbar  ! 
But  let  me  speak.     The  Lords  invite 
Your  Highness  to  return  this  night 
To  Holyrood,  your  royal  home, 
And  to  escort  you  there,  they  come. 
Gladly  their  homage  w'ill  they  show  : 
They  pray  you  to  believe  it  so  ; 
For  aye  they  hold  your  honor  dear, 
And  therefore.  Madam,  we  are  here. 
Not  against  you  shall  Scottish  swords 

E'er  glitter  in  the  sun. 


184  BOTHWELL. 

This  message  bear  I  from  the  Lords ; 
And  now  my  task  is  done." 

XXXVIII. 

Not  once  did  Mary's  eye  and  mine 

Encounter  while  he  spoke. 
I  felt  it  as  a  dismal  sign  : 
The  daughter  of  the  Stuart  line 

Would  not  endure  the  yoke  ! 
"What  I  may  do,"  she  said,  "  depends 
Upon  the  temper  of  your  friends. 
What  is  their  purpose  with  the  Duke  ! 
Know  you,  that  when  his  hand  1  took 

And  spake  the  solemn  vows, 
I  lost  my  freedom  to  rebuke  ; 

I  owned  him  as  my  spouse  ? 
If,  for  my  sake,  the  Lords  appear, 
I  have  the  right  to  dictate  here  ; 
Nor  will  I  so  belie  my  race 
As  yield  to  vengeance  or  disgrace 
The  meanest  vassal  in  my  train. 
Therefore,  Sir  Knight,  you  speak  in  vain, 
Unless  prepared  to  pledge  your  faith. 

That  all  are  free  to  go. 
Nay  more  —  I  stir  not  from  this  heath 

Until  I  see  it  so." 
"  So  shall  it  be,"  Kirkaldy  said  ; 
"  For  that  I  pledge  my  life,  my  head. 
This  message  to  the  Duke  I  bear, 

That,  if  he  craves  the  fight, 


BOTHWELL. 

Lord  Lindsay,  high  and  noble  peer, 

Will  prove  our  quarrel  right. 
Yet  is  he  free  to  pass  from  hence, 
"Without  molest,  without  offence, 
With  all  his  following,  all  his  power, 
So  that  he  tarries  not  an  hour." 

XXXIX. 

The  tsar  was  in  Queen  Mary's  eye. 

As  forth  she  held  her  hand. 
"  Then  is  the  time  of  parting  nigh ! 

For,  Both  well,  my  command 
Is  that  you  go  and  save  a  life 
That  else  were  lost  in  useless  strife. 
Farewell !  We  may  not  meet  again  ; 
But  I  have  passed  such  years  of  pain  — 
So  many  partings  have  I  known. 
That  this  poor  heart  has  callous  grown. 
Farewell !    If  anything  there  be 
That  moves  you  when  you  think  on  me, 
Believe  that  you  are  quite  forgiven 
By  one  who  bids  you  pray  to  Heaven ! 
No  soul  alive  so  innocent 

But  needs  must  beg  at  Mercy's  door  — 
Farewell !  "    She  passed  from  out  the  tent. 

O  God  —  I  never  saw  her  more  ! 

XL. 

Was  it  a  dream  ?  or  did  I  hear 
A  yell  of  scorn  assail  my  ear, 
12 


186  BOTH^VELL. 

As  frantic  from  the  host  I  rode  r 
The  very  charger  I  bestrode 
Rebelled  in  wrath  against  the  rein. 
And  strove  to  bear  me  back  again  ! 
Lost,  lost !     I  cared  not  where  I  went  — 

Losti  lost !     And  none  were  there, 
Save  those  who  sought  in  banishment 

A  refuge  from  despair. 
How  fared  the  rest  ?     I  do  not  know, 
For  I  was  maddened  with  my  woe. 
But  I  remember  when  we  sailed 

From  out  that  dreary  Forth, 
And  in  the  dull  of  morning  hailed 

The  headlands  of  the  North  : 
The  hills  of  Caithness  wrapped  in  rain, 

The  reach  of  Stroma's  isle. 
The  Pentlaud,  where  the  furious  main 

Roars  white  for  many  a  inilc  — 
Until  we  steered  by  Shapinsay, 
.  And  moored  our  bark  in  Kirkwall  bay. 
Yet  not  in  Orkney  would  they  bro(d\. 
The  presence  of  their  banished  Duke. 
The  castle  gates  were  shut  and  barred. 
Up  rose  in  arms  the  burgher  guard ; 

No  refuge  there  we  found. 
But  that  I  durst  not  tarry  long, 
I  would  have  ta'en  that  castle  strong. 

And  ra/.ed  it  to  the  ground  ! 
North,  ever  north  !  we  sailed  by  night, 
And  yet  the  sky  was  red  with  light, 

And  purple  rolled  the  deep. 


BOTH  WELL.  187 

When  morning  came,  we  saw  the  tide 
Break  thundering  on  the  rugged  side 

Of  Sumburgh's  awful  steep  ; 
And,  weary  of  the  wave,  at  last 
lu  Bressay  Sound  our  anchor  cast. 

XLI. 

0  faithless  were  the  waves  and  wind  ! 
Still  the  avenger  sped  behind. 

No  rock  so  rude,  no  isle  so  lone. 
That  I  might  claim  it  as  my  own. 
A  price  was  set  upon  my  head. 
Hunted  from  place  to  place  I  fled ; 
Till  chased  across  the  open  seas, 

I  met  the  surly  Dane. 
These  were  his  gifts  and  welcome  —  these  ! 

A  dungeon  and  a  chain  ! 

XLII. 

Descend,  black  night !     Blot  out  thy  stai"s  — 
Nor  let  them  through  those  prison  bars 

Behold  me  writhing  here  ! 
For  there's  a  hand  upon  my  heart 
That  makes  my  being  thrill  and  start  — 

A  voice  is  in  mine  ear. 

1  hear  its  whisper,  sad  and  low, 
As  if  a  spirit  wailed  in  woe  — 

"  Bothwell  !  thine  end  is  near." 
O  then,  in  mercy,  keep  away. 
Ye  spectral  forms,  nor  cast  dismay 


BOTIIWELL.  P 

Upon  me  in  my  dying  hour  ! 
Why  should  it  please  you  that  I  cower, 
Like  a  lashed  hound,  beneath  your  stare. 
And  shriek,  a  madman,  in  despair  f 
Give  me  one  night,  'tis  all  I  crave, 
To  pass  in  darkness  to  the  grave, 

Nor  more  this  agony  renew  — 
What's  here  ?  —  No  phantom  of  the  tomb  I 

Death  has  not  shed  his  livid  hue 
On  that  pale  cheek,  nor  stamped  his  gloom 
Upon  the  forehead,  fair  and  high. 
Of  Scotland's  Queenly  Majesty  ! 
Mary,  is't  thou  ?  and  com'st  thou  here, 

Alive,  to  chide  me  for  my  wrong  ? 
O,  for  the  love  of  God,  forbear  ! 

Haunt  me  not  now  !     I've  suffered  long. 
And  bitter  has  my  anguish  been ! 
What  brings  thee  hither,  woeful  Queen  ? 
Ah,  what  is  that  ?  a  scaffold  dressed  — 
The  axe,  the  headsman,  and  the  priest  — 
O  God  !  it  surely  cannot  be  !  — 
Come,  Death  ;  and  I  will  welcome  thee  ! 


NOTES. 


NOTES. 


"  For  one  short  month  the  sceptred  mifjht 
Of  Scotland  was  my  own,^''  —  P.  11. 

DATES    OF    THE   PRINCIPAL    EYEXTS    NOTICED    IN    THIS    POEM. 


I  BELIEVE  that  a  good  deal  of  misconception  regarding  the 
personal  history  of  Queen  ]\Iary  has  arisen  from  the  slight 
attention  which  ordinary  readers  pay  to  dates.  The  leading 
events  of  Mary's  life,  at  least  such  events  as  most  powerfully 
influenced  her  destiny,  are  comprised  within  a  very  short  pe- 
riod of  time ;  and  I  think  it  may  assist  the  reader  by  placing 
these  before  him  in  their  chronological  order  :  — 


Marriage  of  Queen  Mary  with  the  Dauphin,     24th  April, 
Dauphin  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  France, 

as  Francis  II., 
Francis  II.  died,  .... 
Mary  waited  on  by  Darnley  at  Orleans,  and  by 

Bothwell  at  Joinville,  in  the  early  part  of 
Mary  lauded  at  Lelth,  .... 
Marriage  of  Queen  Mary  with  Darnley, 
Bothwell  married  Lady  Jean  Gordon,    . 
Murder  of  Riccio,  ... 

James  VI.  born,  ..... 


1558 


.     10th  July, 

1559 

5th  Dec. 

1560 

f 

1561 

.     20th  Aug. 

1561 

.     27th  July, 

1565 

.     24th  Feb. 

1566 

.       9th  March, 

1566 

.     19th  June, 

1566 

192  BOTHAVELL. 

Murder  of  Darnlcy, lOtli  Feb.  1567 

Bothwell  tried  and  acquitted,         .         .         .  12th  April,  1567 
Band  subscribed  by  the  chief  nobility  recom- 
mending  Bothwell  as  a  proper   husband 

for  the  Queen, l!»th  April,  1567 

Mary  carried  off  to  Dunbar  by  Bothwell,  .  21th  April,  1567 
Mary  brought  back  to  Edinburgh  by  Both- 
well,  and  lodged  in  the  Castle,  .  ,  Cth  May,  1567 
Bothwell  divorced  from  his  wife,  .  .  7th  ^lay,  1567 
Marriage  of  Queen  Mary  with  Bothwell,  .  loth  May,  1567 
Parting  of  Mvry  from  Bothwell  at  Carberry,  15th  June,  1567 
Queen  Mary  sent  to  Loch  Leven,          .         .  16th  June,  1567 


"  'T«'(7S  sin  to  smile,  ^Iwas  sin  to  Imiirh, 
^Twas  sin  to  sport  or  p^ni//^  —  P.  2Q. 

FAXATICAL    AUSTERITV    OF    THE    REFORMKUS. 

Bv  an  Act  of  the  Parliament  of  Scotland,  passed  in  1555, 
during  the  minority  of  Marv,  the  old  and  popular  sports  of 
tlie  common  people  were  for1)idden.  "  It  is  statute  and  or- 
dained, that  in  all  times  cumming,  no  manner  of  person  bo 
chosen  Rohert  Hide,  nor  Little  Joiix,  Aiujot  of  Unreasox, 
Queens  of  Mav,  nor  otherwise,  nouther  in  Burgli  nor  to 
Landwart,  in  onie  time  to  cum."  This  nstrietiun  on  the 
amu8(3ment  of  the  lieges  was  accompanied  witli  severe  penal- 
ties against  those  who  should  contravene  it.  Any  pretty  girl 
who  wished  to  be  a  candidate  for  the  flowery  cliajilet  of  '•  the 
Queen  of  the  May,"  then  stood  in  manifest  peril  of  forfeiting 
her  character;  for  the  statute  proceeds:  —  "And  gif  onie 
women  or  others  about  summer  trees  singand,  makis  pertur- 
bation to  the  Queenis  lieges  in  the  passage  throw  Burrowes 


193 


and  uthers  Landward  Townes,  the  woman  perturbatoures  for 
skafrie  of  money,  or  utherwise,  sail  be  taken,  handled,  and 
put  upon  the  Cuck-stules  of  everie  Burgh  or  Toune.^^  What  a 
genial  age  it  must  have  been,  when  poor  maid  Marian  was 
liable  to  "  handling  "  and  the  pillory  for  the  heinous  offence 
of  singing  under  the  summer  trees  ! 

This  Act  was  in  full  force  when  Mary  returned  to  Scotland  ; 
and  as  any  deprivation  of  the  amusements  of  the  working 
classes  is  certain  to  be  followed  by  an  outburst  against  the 
liberty  of  their  superiors  in  rank  and  station,  it  is  no  wonder 
if  the  people,  prohibited  by  statute  from  enjoying  their  own 
sports,  should  have  regarded  with  jealousy  the  gayeties  which 
were  exhibited  in  the  Palace. 

I  shall  simply  quote  the  words  of  Hume,  referable  to  the 
construction  which  the  preachers  were  pleased  to  place  upon 
the  earliest  attempts  of  Mary  to  render  her  Court  attractive. 
"  The  pulpits  had  become  mere  scenes  of  railing  against  the 
vices  of  the  Court ;  among  which  were  always  noted  as  the 
principal,  feasting,  finery,  dancing,  balls,  and  whoredom  (as 
Knox  said),  their  necessary  attendant.  Some  ornaments, 
which  the  ladies  at  that  time  wore  upon  their  petticoats, 
excited  mightily  the  indignation  of  the  preachers  ;  and  they 
affirmed  that  such  vanity  would  provoke  God's  vengeance, 
not  only  against  these  foolish  women,  but  against  the  whole 
realm."  The  personal  remarks  which  John  Knox  directed 
from  the  pulpit  against  his  Queen,  may  be  found  in  any 
edition  of  his  works. 


194  BO'IHWELL. 


"  She  hated  Mary  from  her  sotd, 

As  woman  and  as  Queen.'''  —  P.  23. 

MAUY'S    claim    to    the    throne    of    ENGLAND. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Elizabeth  sliould  have  regarded 
Mary  from  the  very  first  -with  extreme  jealousy  and  dislike. 
Her  own  title  to  the  crown  of  England,  at  least  according  to 
the  ordinary  rules  of  succession,  was  worse  than  doubtful, 
and  had  been  disalU)wed  by  Parliaments  held  during  the 
reigns  both  of  her  father  and  her  brother.  The  accession  of 
her  sister  Mary,  after  the  death  of  Edward  VI.  made  her 
position  even  worse,  since  the  Parliament  of  England,  by 
acknowledging  Mary's  legitimate  right,  virtually  declared 
Eli/al)oth  to  be  a  bastard.  It  will  be  remembered  that  the 
marriage  of  lienry  YIII.  with  his  first  wife,  Catherine  of 
Arragon,  was  set  aside  by  the  sentence  of  Cranmer,  Arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  after  Henry  had  renounced  allegiance 
to  Rome,  on  the  ground  of  nullity,  Catherine  having  been 
his  brother's  widow.  The  marriage  had  been  allowed  in 
consequence  of  the  papal  dispensation  ;  and  Henry,  who  had 
then  set  his  affections  upon  Anne  Boleyn,  used  every  exertion 
to  obtain  a  divorce  from  Komo.  That  divorce.  Pope  Clement, 
from  political  motives,  was  averse  to  grant;  and  Henry,  in 
consequence,  threw  off  the  papal  authority,  and  declared 
himself  the  head  of  the  Euglisli  Church.  The  sentence  of 
Cranmer  was  ratified  and  confirmed  by  Act  of  Parliament ; 
and  therefore  Mary,  as  the  offspring  of  an  iinlawfid  marriage 
void  and  null  ab  initio,  was  declared  illegitimate,  and  ren- 
dered incaj»al)le  of  succession.  But  Henry  had  not  waited, 
even  fur  the  sentence  of  Cranmer,  before  consummating  his 
second  marriage  with  Anne  Boleyn  ;  and  Elizabeth  was  boru 
before  the  decease  of  Catherine  of  Arragon.     When  Ileury, 


NOTES.  195 

moved  by  the  charms  of  Jane  Seymour,  wlio  became  his  third 
wife,  sent  Anne  Boleyn  upon  false  charges  to  the  block,  that 
marriage  also  was  annulled,  and  the  issue  declared  illegiti- 
mate ;  and  by  Act  of  Parliament  (8th  June,  1530)  the  crown 
was  settled  on  the  King's  issue  by  Jane  Seymour,  or  any 
subsequent  wife  ;  and  in  case  he  should  die  without  children, 
he  was  empowered  by  will  or  letters-patent  to  dispose  of  the 
crown.  Jane  Seymour  died,  leaving  only  one  son,  Edward  ; 
Anne  of  Cleves  was  unceremoniously  sent  back  to  her  family, 
and  Catherine  Howard  was  I)eheaded.  After  taking  to  him- 
self a  sixth  wife,  Catherine  Parr,  Henry  became  uneasy  as  to 
the  state  of  the  succession,  and  procured  an  Act  of  Parliament, 
limiting  the  succession  to  the  crown,  in  the  event  of  the  death 
of  Prince  Edward  without  issue,  "  to  the  King's  daughter, 
Lady  Mary,  and  her  issue ;  and  in  default  of  such  issue,  to 
Lady  Elizabeth  and  her  issue:  —  the  King  being  empowered 
to  appoint  the  succession  of  the  crown,  on  failure  of  all  such 
issue,  by  his  last  will  in  writing." 

Such  is  the  abbreviate  of  the  Act  of  Parliament,  28  Henry 
YIIT.  c.  7,  by  which  the  ordinary  laws  of  the  realm  were  set 
at  utter  defiance  ;  for  while  the  princesses  were  expressly 
called  to  the  succession,  the  Acts  which  declared  them  to  be 
illegitimate  were  not  revoked.  About  a  month  before  his 
decease,  Henry  made  his  will,  leaving  the  crown  first  to 
Edward,  then  to  Mary,  then  to  Elizabetli ;  and  failing  them 
and  their  issue,  to  the  heirs  of  his  younger  sister,  the  Duchess 
of  Suffolk,  thus  excluding  the  posterity  of  his  eldest  sister 
Margaret,  Queen  of  Scots,  who,  after  his  lawful  children, 
were  next  in  succession.  Of  Edward's  right  to  the  crown 
there  could  be  no  doubt ;  but  Edward  had  formed  the  opinion 
that  both  his  sisters  were  illegitimate.  Accordingly,  upon 
his  death-bed,  he  desired  letters-patent  to  be  made  out  by 
commissioners  specially  named,  again  altering  the  succes- 


196  ■BOTiirrELL. 

Bion,  setting  aside  Marj  and  Elizabeth,  and  preferring  the 
heirs  of  the  Duchess  of  SulVolk.  Upon  these  letters-patent 
■was  founded  the  claim  of  the  unfortunate  Lady  Jane  Grey, 
who,  personally  blameless,  became  a  sacrifice  to  the  ambition 
of  her  husl)and*s  family.  By  the  first  Parliament  of  Queen 
Mary,  the  Acts  affecting  her  own  legitimacy  were  set  aside; 
the  sentence  of  divorce  between  Henry  and  Catherine  of 
Arragon  was  repealed  and  annulled,  and  their  marriage  was 
declared  to  have  been  in  every  respect  valid  and  lawful. 
This  Act  was  another  solemn  declaration  of  the  illegitimacy 
of  Elizabeth,  who,  as  I  ha,ve  said,  was  born  during  the  life- 
time of  Queen  Cathei'ine  ;  for  it  is  evident  that  by  no  possible 
-construction  of  Itiw  could  JNIary  and  Elizabeth  both  bo  held 
legitimate.  Mary's  right  and  status  were  never  questioned 
by  any  power  in  Europe ;  and  so  long  as  she  lived,  the  claims 
of  the  Scots  line  were  kejit  in  abeyance.  But  on  her  death, 
when  Elizabeth  without  oppositi(jn  assumed  the  throne,  with 
no  better  title  than  the  destination  contained  in  her  father's 
will,  Henry  II.  of  France  caused  his  daughter-in-law,  Mary 
Queen  of  Scots  and  Dauphiness,  to  assume  openly  the  arms 
as  well  as  the  title  of  Queen  of  England.  Tliis  was  a  direct 
challenge  of  the  right  and  legitimacy  of  Elizabeth  ;  and 
d  )ubtless  gave  rise  to  that  hatred  which  was  nut  ajipeased 
until  the  unfortunate  Queen  of  Scots  died  upon  the  scaffold 
at  Fotheringay. 

Elizabeth  had  the  good  fortune  to  be  served  l)y  wise  and 
able  ministers ;  and  they,  conscious  of  the  radical  defect  in 
the  title  of  their  mistress,  advised  her  that  the  surest  mode 
of  counteracting  her  rival  was  by  fomenting  the  dissensions 
which  at  that  time  agitated  Scotland,  and  by  lending  her 
countenance  an<l  aid  to  the  Lords  of  the  Congregation.  For 
the  adoption  of  this  policy  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  blame 
Elizalxith.     She  was,  in  f.ut,  the  great  Protestant  Sovereign 


NOTES.  197 

of  Europe,  with  Spain  and  France  against  her  ;  but  the  most 
serious  and  pri'ssing  danger  -was  to  be  apprehended  from  Scot- 
land. If  Mary  could  by  any  means  conciliate  her  subjects, 
and  restore  internal  harmony  to  her  realm,  she  might,  without 
any  imputation  of  rashness,  proceed  to  enforce  her  undoubted 
hereditiiry  riglit  to  the  throne  of  England  ;  in  which  attempt, 
besides  the  co-operation  of  the  Continental  Catholic  powers, 
she  was  certain  to  receive  assistance  from  the  English  Cath- 
olics, tiien  a  large,  influential,  and  discontented  body.  But 
by  promoting  discord  in  Scotknd,  and  by  assuming  the 
character  of  protectress  of  the  reforming  party  there ;  by 
giving  secret  subsidies  to  the  disaffected ;  and  by  affording 
shelter  to  those  who  were  guilty  of  rebellion,  Elizabeth 
played  her  game  so  well,  that  at  last  she  was  able  to  appear 
as  umpire  between  her  hated  rival  and  the  insurgent  nobles 
of  Scotland.  In  all  this  she  displayed  consummate  tact, 
judgment,  and  perfidy  —  the  latter  a  quality  which,  in  State 
affairs,  it  has  long  been  the  fashion  to  excuse  :  and  no  one 
can  rise  from  an  attentive  perusal  of  the  records  of  that  time, 
without  the  conviction  that  the  very  wisest  of  the  so-called 
Scottish  statesmen  of  the  day  were  mere  tools  and  puppets 
in  the  hands  of  her  and  her  counsellors.  Murray  has,  by 
more  than  one  writer,  been  represented  as  a  high-minded  and 
patriotic  man.  Before  Elizabeth  he  was  no  better  than  a 
spaniel,  cowering  under  the  degradation  of  the  lash,  which 
was  often  unsparingly  applied.  And  so  it  was  with  Morton, 
and  all  the  others  to  whom  she  extended  her  protection,  and 
who  privily  were  the  recipients  of  her  bounty.  To  her 
machinations,  successfully  carried  through  by  adroit  and 
active  agents,  each  unfortunate  step  in  the  career  of  Mary, 
whose  nature  was  too  guileless  to  enable  her  to  descry  the 
fine  meshes  of  the  net  by  which  she  was  pitilessly  surrounded, 
may  easily  be  traced. 


198  BOTIIAVF,r,L. 

•'  For  s/il/  the  phantom  in  her  path 
Had  brcn  a  Scottish  har.'"  —  V.  28. 

POPULAR    PROPHECIES    OF    THE    SUCCESSION    OF    TDE    SCOTS    LINE 
TO    THE    CROWN    OF    ENGLAND. 

In  every  nation,  at  a  curtain  period  of  its  progress,  proplie- 
cieB  of  this  kind  are  current ;  though  it  is  but  proper  to  add 
that,  in  many  instances,  there  is  good  reason  to  suspect  that 
the  vaticinations  of  the  ekU;r  seers  have  been  altered  and 
modified  to  suit  events  alter  their  occurrence.  The  leading 
prophet  of  Scotland,  whose  fame  has  not  yet  passed  into 
oblivion,  was  Thomas  Learmonth  of  Ercildounc,  familiarly 
known  to  the  peasantry  as  Thomas  the  Rhymer,  who  lived  in 
the  days  of  King  xUexander  the  Third,  and  died,  as  a[)pears 
from  a  charter  by  his  son,  previous  to  12'J'J,  before  Wallace 
had  concluded  his  great  struggle  h)r  [Scottish  liberty,  llis 
traditionary  adventures  with  the  Queen  of  EKland  —  a  very 
different  personage  from  Titania,  the  spouse  of  Oberon  — 
have  been  made  the  theme  of  ballad  and  of  song  :  indeed,  he 
seems  to  have  enjoyed  in  Scotland,  for  a  very  long  series  of 
years,  the  same  magical  reputation  which  was  conferred, 
during  the  middle  ages,  upon  the  poet  Virgil  llis  prophecies, 
however,  are  the  great  foundation  of  his  fame,  and  it  is 
curious  to  observe  at  what  an  early  period  these  were  cited  as 
instances  of  remarkable  fulliliuent.  lie  seems  to  have  pi-ophe- 
sied  that  one  of  the  family  of  Bruce  would  gain  the  throne 
of  Scotland  ;  for,  in  Barbour's  poem  of  The  Bruce,  which 
was  compo8;'d  about  the  year  1370,  the  Bishop  of  St.  An- 
drews is  made  to  exclaim,  on  receiving  intelligence  of  the 
slaughter  of  tlie  Red  Comyn  by  King  Robert  — 

"  Sekyrly 
I  hope,  Thomas  prophecy 


199 


Off  Hersildoune  sail  veryfyd  be 
In  him  ;  for,  swa  our  Lord  help  me, 
I  haiff  gret  hope  he  sail  be  king, 
And  haitf  this  land  all  in  leding." 

Andrew  Wintoun,  prior  uf  St.  Serf's,  who  compiled  hia 
Chronicle  about  the  year  1420,  speaks  thus  of  one  of  the 
Rhymer's  current  proj^hecies  :  — 

"  Of  this  fycht  quilum  spak  Thomas 
Of  Eisylduuue,  that  sayd  in  dei'ne,. 
There  suld  ineit  stalwaitly,  starke  and  sterne, 
He  sayd  it  in  his  prophecy  ; 
But  how  he  wist,  it  was  ferly." 

There  were,  however,  otlier  popular  prophets  than  Thomas 
of  Ercildoune ;  and  in  process  of  time  their  vaticinations 
became  blended  with  his,  and  the  greater  prophet  eclipsed 
the  group  of  the  lesser  ones,  and  enjoyed  the  monopoly  of 
the  whole.  No  collection  of  these  prophecies  seems  to  have 
been  made  and  published  before  the  year  1008,  after  James 
VI.  succeeded  to  the  throne  of  England  ;  and  therefore  there 
is  no  satisfactory  evidence  as  to  their  authenticity  in  the  form 
in  which  they  now  exist.  Ballads  and  popular  rhymes,  when 
transmitted  only  by  oral  tradition,  must,  in  the  course  of 
time,  undergo  many  changes  both  in  dialect  and  form  ;  and 
that  strong  tendency  towards  the  marvellous,  which  is  by  no 
mean.s  confined  to  the  vulgar,  may  be  presumed  to  encourage 
and  invite  imposture.  But  I  deny  altogether  the  assertion  of 
Lord  Hailes,  that  the  popular  Scottish  prophecies  relative  to 
the  succession  of  the  Stuart  family  to  the  throne  of  England, 
were  forgeries  or  interpolations  made  sulisequcnt  to  the  death 
of  Queen  Elizabeth,  for  the  purpose  of  being  accommodated 
to  the  accession  of  King  James  ;  and  I  do  so  upon  the  strength 
of  evidence  which  cannot  be  overthrown.     It  is  but  fair  that 


200  BOTHWELL. 

the  prophets  should  receive  credit  where  credit  is  justly  due ; 
and  in  this  instance  it  is  imjjossible  to  deny  to  Thomas  the 
Rhymer,  or  his  follower,  the  possession  of  the  prophetic 
mantle.     The  rhyme  stands  thus  :  — 

"  However  it  happen  for  to  fall, 
The  Lyon  shall  be  lord  of  all  ; 
The  French  Queene  shall  beare  the  son 
Shall  rule  all  Britaine  to  the  sea. 
Which  of  the  Bruce's  blood  shall  come 
As  neare  as  the  nint  degree." 

Now,  although  there  is  no  printed  version  of  these  prophe- 
cies earlier  than  that  to  which  I  have  referred,  it  is  easy  to 
show  that  this  particular  prediction  was  known  and  popular- 
ly quoted  previous  to  the  return  of  Queen  Mary  from  France ; 
therefore  previous  to  her  marriage  with  Darnley,  and  at  a 
time  when  Elizabeth  was  still  ^^oung,  and  when  the  prospect 
of  her  contracting  a  matrimonial  alliance  was  extremely 
probable.  The  following  remarkable  passage  is  extracted  from 
a  poem,  of  the  authenticity  of  which  there  can  be  no  question, 
by  Alexander  Scott,  entitled  Ane  New  Yere  Gift  to  the  Qucne, 
quhen  scho  come  first  hame.  The  poem,  therefore,  was  com- 
posed in  1561.     It  opens  thus  :  — 

"  Welcum,  illustrat  Ladye,  and  oure  Quene  ; 
Welcum  our  lyone,  -with  the  Floure-de-lyce  ; 
AVelcum  our  thrissill,  with  the  Loraiie  grene  ; 
"Welcum  our  rubent  rois  upon  the  ryce  ; 
Welcum  our  jem  and  joyfull  genetrice  ; 
Welcum  our  beill  of  Albion  to  beir  ; 
Welcum  our  plesand  Princess,  maist  of  price  ; 
God  gife  thi'  grace  agaiiis  this  guid  new  yeir." 

After  no  fewer  than  twenty-four  stanzas  of  loyal  greeting 
and  aspiration,  closing  with  a  devout  wish  for  the  Queen's 


NOTES.  201 

marriage,  the  poet  thus  refers  to  the  current  prophecies.  As 
it  may  be  difficult  for  some  readers  to  comprehend  the  mean- 
ing of  the  words  when  expressed  in  the  old  Scottish  mode  of 
spelling,  I  have  ventured  so  far  to  modernize  this  stanza,  but 
without  changing  a  single  word  :  — 

•'  If  saws  be  sooth  to  show  thy  cclsitude, 

What  bairn  should  brook  all  Britain  by  the  sea  7 
The  prophecy  expressly  docs  conclude 
The  French  wife  of  the  Bruce'' s  blood  should  be  : 
Thou  art  by  line  from  him  the  ninth  degree. 
And  was  King  Francis'  party  maik  and  peer  ; 
So  by  descent,  the  same  should  spring  of  thee, 
By  grace  of  God,  against  this  good  new  year." 

Here  we  have,  in  language  so  precise  as  almost  to  amount 
to  quotation,  distinct  and  unequivocal  reference  to  the  pre- 
diction which  Lord  Hailes  challenged  as  spurious. 

I  may  add  that  curious  testimony  has  been  borne  to  the 
strange  fulfilment  of  some  of  tho  Rhymer's  prophecies  by 
John  Colville,  whose  funeral  oration  upon  Queen  Elizabeth 
(Paris,  1604)  contains  the  following  passage  :  — 

"  Nonne  hsec  Saturnii  seculi  argumenta  indubitata  ?  qu£e 
mihi  in  memoriam  exulceratam  revocant,  quod,  cum  puer 
essem  audiveram  balathrones  ccraulas  Thomae  Rythmic!  fati- 
dici  numerare  quaadam  carmina  trivialia,  quae  tunc  ludicra, 
nunc  vero  seria  atque  efficacia  esse  agnosco  :  verum  se  Del- 
phice  an  divinitas  inspirata  sint,  definire  non  audeo  cum  teste 
Augustino." 

I  am  very  far  from  wishing  it  to  be  supposed  that  I  rest 
much  faith  in  the  authenticity  of  popular  rhymes,  especially 
when  these  are  of  a  prophetic  character.  Nevertheless,  I 
hope  my  readers  will  not  be  displeased  at  my  calling  their 
notice  to  one  instance  in  which  a  popular  prophecy  was  un- 
13 


202  BOTHWELL. 

doubtedly  fulfilled.  The  extract  from  Scott's  poem  shows 
that  the  prediction  was  then  current  among  the  people  of 
Scotland  ;  and  there  can  be  little  dou])t  that  it  was  known  to 
Elizabeth.  If  so,  is  it  wonderful  that,  in  an  age  when  super- 
stitious feelings  were  still  cherished,  the  announcement  that 
her  rival  had  given  birtli  to  a  sun  and  heir,  next  after  herself 
in  succession  to  tlie  throne  of  England,  should  have  grieved 
the  haughty  mind  of  Elizabeth  ? 


"  There  was  that  Riccio — sharp  and  s/y."  —  P.  29. 

FIRST  CONSPIRACY  AGAINST  QUEEN  MARY. 

The  details  of  the  murder  of  Riccio  are  so  well  known,  that 
it  would  be  out  of  place  to  repeat  them  here.  But  the  con- 
spiracy which  led  to  that  event  deserves  especial  notice  ;  and 
I  trust  that  a  short  explanation  of  its  origin  and  aim  will  not 
be  considered  superfluous. 

The  Scottish  nobles  who  promoted  the  cause  of  the  Refor- 
mation, had  a  deep  interest  in  its  permanence.  They  knew 
well  that,  if  the  authority  of  Rome  was  again  established,  the 
immediate  consequence  would  be  a  restitution  of  tiie  Church 
lands  which  had  been  appropriated  as  lawful  spoils  ;  therefore, 
from  the  very  first,  they  ranged  themselves  in  opposition  to 
Mary,  whose  devotion  to  the  Catholic  faith  was  notorious.  At 
their  head  was  Lord  James  Stuart,  Prior  of  St.  Andrews,  liettcr 
known  as  the  Earl  of  Murray,  a  bastard  brother  of  the  Queen, 
formidable  alike  from  his  ability  and  his  ambition.  lie  was 
the  natural  son  of  James  V,  by  Margaret,  daughter  of  Lord 
Erskino;  and  is  believed,  from  an  early  period  of  his  life,  to 


203 


have  entertained  the  hope  of  obtaining  a  reversal  of  his  illegi- 
timacy, in  which  case  he  might,  in  the  event  of  Mary  dying 
vrithout  issue,  have  advanced  a  claim  to  the  crown  of  Scot- 
land. Nor  was  this  a  scheme  so  wild  as  to  appear  beyond 
the  pale  of  probability.  The  claims  of  Henry  VII.  to  the 
throne  of  England  had  been  rested  upon  no  better  founda- 
tion ;  and  Elizabeth's  right,  as  I  have  explained  in  a  former 
note,  was  worse  than  doubtful.  Murray  was  just  the  kind  of 
man  likely  to  succeed  in  such  a  design.  He  was  cool,  cau- 
tious, long-sighted,  and  unscrupulous  ;  and  by  taking  the 
popular  side  in  the  then  all-absorbing  religious  controversy, 
he  greatly  increased  his  reputation  and  his  power.  He  also 
entered  into  deep  and  intricate  relations  with  the  Court  of 
England. 

When  Mary,  contrary  to  the  wishes  of  Elizabeth,  consulted 
her  own  inclination  by  marrying  Darnley,  Murray  threw  every 
possible  obstacle  in  the  way.  The  means  he  employed  are 
concisely  stated  by  Lord  Herries  in  his  History. 

"  A  little  after  this,  Henry  Lord  Darnley  came  to  Scotland, 
upon  a  pass  from  the  Queen  of  England  for  three  months' 
stay.  Our  Queen  was  desirous  to  see  this  young  gentleman, 
who  had  been  secretly  proposed  unto  her  for  a  husband.  He 
was  her  own  cousin  m  the  third  degree  by  his  mother,  who 
was  daughter  to  the  Earl  of  Angus,  begotten  upon  the  Queen 
who  was  mother  to  King  James  the  Fifth,  and  grandmother 
to  the  Queen  herself.  It  was  soon  seen  that  she  took  a 
liking  unto  him:  which  by  many  means  was  indirectly  crossed 
by  the  Earl  of  Murray  There  had  been  propositions  of  mar- 
riage laid  down  heretofore  to  the  Queen  concerning  this  same 
gentleman,  which  were  known  to  be  put  aside  by  the  under- 
hand working  of  the  Earl  of  Murray,  whereof  the  Queen  was 
not  ignorant.  But  now  the  many  dislikes  she  had  conceived 
against  hmi  made  her  resolve  to  take  a  husband,  that  by  the 


204  BOTHWELL. 

happiness  of  succession  a  settlement  might  be  expected  to  the 
crown  and  estate  of  the  kingdom.  Yet  the  crown  being  the 
mark  whereat  Murray  aimed,  his  greatest  study  was  to  keep 
the  Queen  from  marriage,  Avhich  at  this  time  he  could  not  do 
handsomely  himself.  So  now,  as  formerly,  he  had  recourse 
to  Queen  Elizabeth  of  England,  who  was  soon  persuaded  to 
throw  stumbling-blocks  in  the  way.  It  was  thought  that, 
besides  reasons  of  state  and  the  assisting  of  Murray  in  his 
pretensions,  the  Queen  of  England  had  a  secret  averseness  and 
antipathy  to  our  Queen,  one  of  her  own  sex,  whom  she  knew 
to  be  her  nearest  successor  ;  but  now,  to  have  the  comfort  of 
a  husband  and  the  happiness  of  children,  blessings  that  she 
knew  herself  not  capable  of,  were  things  that  she  could  not 
think  upon  but  with  envy. 

"  But  before  Queen  Elizabeth  did  show  herself  in  the  busi- 
ness, the  Earl  of  Murray  used  what  indirect  means  he  could 
to  cross  the  Queen's  resolutions.  Religion  was  his  chief  ob- 
jection, wherein  he  had  the  ministers  to  follow  him  with  open 
mouth.  They  said  that  it  could  not  stand  with  the  honor 
of  God,  nor  the  Reformed  Religion,  that  the  Queen  should 
take  any  to  husband  wiio  had  any  tincture  of  Popery,  nor 
before  a  visible  assurance  might  be  had  of  the  preservation  of 
the  religion  now  established.  These  were  public  propositions. 
But  the  Earl  of  Murray,  finding  them  not  take  the  wished 
effect,  he  laid  open  challenge  to  one  David  Rizius,  an  Italian, 
who  had  served  the  Queen  for  many  years,  and  who,  from  a 
Musician,  became  the  Secretary  of  State  —  an  active  politick 
man,  whose  counsel  tiie  Queen  made  use  of  in  her  greatest 
affairs.  Upon  this  man  he  laid  aspersions  that  the  Queen 
was  misled  by  his  advice  ;  tliat  he  was  a  stranger,  and  one 
basely  born  ;  and  that  for  his  cause  she  misregardod  the  ad- 
vice of  her  nol)ility.  Tliese  things  were  cried  out  l)y  that 
party.     They  went  yet  further  ;  there  Avere  whispering  means 


NOTES.  205 

usad  to  divert  the  Lord  Darnley's  affection  from  tlie  Queen, 
and  tales  were  sometimes  minced  at,  as  though  David  Rizius 
was  many  times  too  intimate  with  the  Queen  more  than  was 
fitting. 

"  The  Queen  observed  all  these  proceedings,  and  knew  from 
whom  they  came.  But  she  was  resolved  to  marry  ;  which 
she  suspected  was  the  thing  m  the  world  that  would  most 
vex  the  Earl  of  Murray  ;  and  to  strengthen  her  own  faction, 
she  called  home  the  Earl  of  Bothwell  from  France,  the  Earl 
of  Sutherland  from  Flanders,  and  took  George  Gordon,  the 
Earl  of  Huntley's  eldest  son,  out  of  prison,  gave  them  all 
remissions,  and  restored  them  to  their  estates  and  honors." 

Riccio  was  then  laboring  to  remove  every  impediment 
which  had  been  cast  in  the  way  of  the  marriage  of  his  royal 
mistress  with  Darnley  ;  little  dreaming  that  the  infatuated 
fool  whom  he  was  raising  to  a  throne  would  repay  his  ser- 
vices by  the  blow  of  the  assassin's  dagger  !  ^Murray,  though 
a  master  in  dissimulation,  regarded  Mary's  marriage  as  too 
hazardous  an  event  for  his  own  project  to  be  allowed  without 
an  outbreak  ;  more  especially  as  Mary  had  inconsiderately 
and  foolishly  agreed  to  use  her  influence  with  the  Scottish 
Parliament  to  confer  the  crown-matrimonial  upon  her  hus- 
band. This  serious  error  cost  Mary  dear.  The  Duke  of 
Chatelherault,  who  stood  next  after  her  in  succession,  was  of 
course  opposed  to  such  a  grant,  which  threatened  his  heredi- 
tary rights  ;  and  was  thus  for  a  time  induced  to  lend  his 
influence  to  Murray.  Mary,  being  unable  to  obtain  the  con- 
sent of  the  nobles,  took  upon  herself  to  proclaim  Darnley  on 
the  day  of  their  marriage  as  King  ;  and  the  entry  in  the 
Canongate  Register  of  Marriages  is  —  ''Henry  and  Marie, 
Kyng  and  Qweine  of  Scotis." 

ilurray  attempted  a  rebellion  ;  but  not  being  adequately 
supported  by   the    people,   he  and    his    confederates    were 


206  BOTHWELL. 

compelled  to  retire  before  the  army,  which  the  Queen  led  in 
person,  and  took  refuge  in  England.  So  closes  the  first  act 
of  the  Murray  conspiracy. 

The  opening  of  the  second  act  is  very  different.  The  mar- 
riage being  now  consummated,  and  the  Queen  being  pregnant, 
Murray,  then  fugitive  and  exiled,  commenced  an  intimate 
correspondence  with  Darnley,  whose  pride,  assumption,  and 
insolence,  coupled  with  his  notorious  ingratitude  and  infidel- 
ity to  his  consort,  had  by  this  time  alienated  from  him  the 
reo-ard  of  all  loyal  subjects.  It  is  almost  inconceivable  that 
Darnley,  imbecile  and  thoroughly  vicious  as  he  was,  should 
have  fallen  into  such  a  snare  ;  nevertheless  we  find  that,  only 
seven  days  before  the  murder  of  Riccio,  a  Band  was  granted 
by  "  Archibald,  Earl  of  Argyle  ;  James,  Earl  of  Murray  ; 
Alexander,  Earl  of  Glencairn  ;  Andrew,  Earl  of  Rothes  ; 
Robert,  Lord  Boyd ;  Andrew,  Lord  Ochiltree ;  and  their 
complices,"  "  to  ane  noble  and  inychty  Prence,  Henry,  King 
of  Scotland,  husband  to  our  soverane  Lady."  And  the  terms 
of  that  Band  were  as  follows.  The  subscribers  bound  them- 
selves to  maintain  Darnley 's  cause  and  quarrel  against  all 
the  world,  with  life,  lands,  and  goods  ;  to  use  their  influence 
in  Parliament  to  have  his  assumption  of  the  crown-matrimo- 
nial ratified  ;  to  fortify  and  maintain  his  title  to  the  crown, 
failing  the  Queen  without  issue  ;  and  to  use  their  interest 
with  Elizabeth  in  his  behalf.  I  quote  one  passage,  for  the 
purpose  of  showing  the  extent  of  their  submission  :  "  Item, 
as  they  ar  becuming  trew  and  faythfull  subjectes,  men,  and 
Bsrvandis  to  the  said  noble  prence,  and  sail  be  leall  and  trew 
to  his  Majestic,  as  becumcs  trew  subjectis  to  ther  naturall 
prence,  and  as  trew  and  faythfull  servandis  sei-vis  ther  gud 
maistcris  with  ther  bodcis,  landis,  gudis,  and  possessiounis. 
And  sail  nuuther  spayr  lyf  nor  dead  in  settyng  fordwart  all 
thingis  that  may  be  to  tiio  advancement  of  the  said  noble 


NOTES.  207 

prence."  We  have  it  on  the  authority  of  Knox,  that  a 
counter-band,  signed  by  Daniley  and  his  father,  the  Earl  of 
Lennox,  was  granted  to  the  confederates,  "  for  they  durst  not 
trust  the  King's  word  without  his  Signet."  All  this  was 
perfectly  well  known  to  Elizabeth's  agents  ;  indeed,  they  were 
privy  to  the  whole  transaction.  The  support  of  Morton  was 
purchased  by  Darnley's  resigning  his  claim  to  the  earldom  of 
Angus  ;  and  the  plot  being  thus  far  advanced,  Elizabeth  was 
apprized  of  the  conspiracy.  Here,  again,  dates  become  of 
much  value.  The  Earl  of  Bedford  and  Randolph,  who  were 
then  at  Berwick,  wrote  to  Cecil  on  6th  March  that  "  a  mat- 
ter of  no  small  consequence  in  Scotland  was  intended  ;  "  and 
"  to  this  determination  of  theirs  there  are  privy  in  Scotland 
these  :  Argyle,  Morton,  Boyd,  Ruthven,  and  Lethington.  In 
England  these  :  Murray,  Rothes,  Grange,  myself,  and  the 
writer  hereof.  If  persuasions  to  cause  the  Queen  to  yield  to 
these  matters  do  no  good,  they  propose  to  proceed  we  know 
not  in  what  sort."  The  "matters"  in  question  were  of 
great  importance  to  Murray  and  his  rebel  confederates,  for 
they  included  their  estates  in  Scotland,  it  being  Mary's 
declared  intention  that  the  fugitive  Lords  should  be  forfeited 
by  Parliament.  They  were  cited  to  appear  on  the  12th  of 
March,  so  that  some  sudden  and  decisive  step  was  necessary. 
On  the  9th  of  March,  Riccio  was  murdered  in  the  presence 
of  the  Queen,  who  was  made  a  prisoner  in  her  own  palace. 
It  was  at  first  intended  that  the  slaughter  should  be  on  a 
larger  scale,  so  as  to  include  Mary's  principal  supporters  ;  as 
detailed  by  herself  in  a  remarkable  letter  to  Betoun,  Arch- 
bishop of  Glasgow,  her  ambassador  at  Paris.  That  letter 
bears  date  the  2d  April,  and  the  revelation  it  contains  rela- 
tive to  the  designs  of  the  conspirators  was  evidently  furnished 
by  Darnley,  who  by  that  time  had  betrayed  his  confederates. 
After  relating  the  horrible  circumstances  of  the  murder,  but 


208  BOTHWELL. 

■without  charging  her  husband  with  direct  participation,  she 
writes  :  — 

"  We  all  this  time  took  no  less  care  of  ourselves  than  for 
our  council  and  nobility,  maintainers  of  our  authority,  being 
with  us  in  our  palace  at  the  time  ;  to  wit,  the  Earls  of  Hunt- 
ley, Bothwell.  AthoU,  Lords  Fleming  and  Livingston,  Sir  James 
Balfour,  and  certain  others  our  fauiiliar  servitors,  against 
whom  the  enterprise  was  conspired  as  well  as  for  David  ;  and 
namely,  to  have  hanged  the  said  Sir  James  in  cords.  Yet,  by 
the  providence  of  God,  the  Earls  of  Huntley  and  Bothwell 
escaped  forth  of  their  chambers  in  our  palace  at  a  back  win- 
dow by  some  cords  ;  whereon  the  conspirators  took  some  fear, 
and  thought  themselves  greatly  disappointed  in  their  enter- 
prise. The  Earl  of  Atholl  and  Sir  James  Balfour  by  some 
other  means,  with  the  Lords  Fleming  and  Livingston,  ob- 
tained deliverance  of  their  invasion.  Tlie  provost  and  town 
of  Edinburgh  having  understood  this  tumult  in  our  palace, 
caused  ring  their  common  bell,  came  to  us  in  great  number, 
and  desired  to  have  seen  our  presence,  intercommuned  with 
us,  and  to  have  known  our  welfare  :  so  when  we  was  not 
permitted  to  give  answer,  being  extremely  bestead  by  those 
lords,  who  in  our  face  declared,  if  we  desired  to  have  spoken 
them,  they  should  cut  us  in  collops,  and  cast  us  over  the 
wall.  So  this  community,  being  commanded  by  our  husband, 
retired  them  to  quietness." 

Next  day  Murray  arrived  in  Edinl)urgh,  and  at  an  inter- 
view with  liis  sister  expressed  great  alfoctiou  and  solicitude  ; 
but,  as  Mary  writes,  "  upon  the  morn  he  assembled  the  enter- 
prisers of  this  late  crime,  and  such  of  our  rebels  as  came 
with  him.  In  their  council  they  thought  it  most  expedient 
we  should  be  warded  in  our  castle  of  Stirling,  there  to  remain 
while  we  had  approved  in  Parliament  all  their  wicked  enter- 
prises, established  their  religion,  and  given  to  the  King  the 


NOTES.  209 

crown-matrimonial  and  the  whole  government  of  our  realm  : 
or  else,  by  all  appearance,  firmly  purposed  to  have  put  us  to 
death,  or  detained  us  in  perpetual  captivity." 

Mary  owed  her  escape  from  this  frightful  peril  to  her  own 
presence  of  mind,  and  the  influence  which  she  still  exercised 
over  the  weak  and  vacillating  Darnley.  She  represented  to 
him  that,  by  aiding  the  designs  of  tlie  rebel  Lords,  he  was 
inviting  his  own  ruin  ;  and  he,  being  thoroughly  terrified  by 
the  dreadful  consequences  of  his  folly,  abandoned  the  Lords 
(with  whom  he  had  been  confederated  for  scarcely  ten  days), 
devised  the  means  of  escape,  and  fled  with  Mary  to  Dunbar. 
Once  there,  she  was  safe,  at  least  in  the  meanwhile ;  for  the 
loyal  gentlemen  of  Scotland,  in  indignation  at  the  unparal- 
leled outrage  upon  their  Queen,  flocked  to  her  standard,  and 
the  murderers  of  Riccio  were  compelled  to  take  their  flight. 
Murray,  however,  who  denied  complicity,  and  who  had  not 
been  denounced  by  Darnley,  remained  ;  and  in  the  sequel, 
through  the  mediation  of  Elizabeth,  whose  acute  counsellors 
forsaw  the  efiect  of  such  undeserved  lenity,  all  the  conspira- 
tors and  actors  in  the  murder  of  Riccio  were  pardoned,  except 
Morton,  Lindsay,  Ruthven,  and  one  or  two  of  inferior  note. 
This  act  of  grace,  which  is  only  one  of  many  proofs  of  Mary's 
singular  clemency,  was  made  shortly  after  the  birth  of  the 
Prince.  It  was  a  political  blunder,  but  undoubtedly  an 
amiable  one.  Elizabetli  never  pardoned  those  who  rebelled 
against  her  authority.  Mary  took  the  opposite  course,  and 
to  that  we  must  ascribe  her  ruin. 


210  BOTHWELL. 


"  John  Elliot  of  the  Park.''  —  !?.  45. 

BOTHWELL's    encounter    with    ELLIOT. 

The  circumstances  of  this  duel,  in  which  Bothwell  dis- 
played great  intrepidity,  are  minutely  stated  by  a  journalist 
of  the  time,  and  I  have  not  deviated  from  his  account.  Elliot 
of  the  Park  was  no  common  marauder.  He  claimed  to  be, 
if  not  the  head  of  his  name,  at  least  the  chief  of  a  powerful 
branch  of  the  Elliots ;  and  asserted  that,  by  hereditary  right, 
he  was  the  Captain  of  Hermitage  Castle.  He  was,  however, 
a  notorious  Border  depredator,  and  is  specially  mentioned  in 
an  old  poem  by  Sir  Eichard  Maitland,  entitled  "  Aganis  the 
Thieves  of  Liddcsdail." 

"  They  spulzie  poor  men  of  their  packs. 
They  leave  them  not  on  bed,  nor  backs: 
Both  hen  and  cock, 
With  reel  and  rock, 
The  Laird's  Jock  — 
All  with  him  takes. 

"  They  leave  not  spindle,  spoon,  nor  spit. 
Bed,  bolster,  blanket,  shirt,  nor  sheet  ; 
John  of  the  Park 
Eypcs  chest  and  ark  : 
For  all  such  wark 
lie  is  risht  meet." 


NOTES.  211 

"  I  heard  the  voice  of  Ormision.'^  — P.  47. 

ORMISTON    OF    TUAT    ILK. 

James  Ormiston  of  that  Ilk  —  or  Black  Ormiston,  as  he 
was  sometimes  distinctively  called  —  was  a  Baron  of  Teviot- 
dale,  the  devoted  adherent  and  adviser  of  Bothwell.  He  is  not 
to  be  confounded,  as  some  writers  have  done,  with  Cockburn  of 
Ormiston,  a  baron  of  East  Lothian,  who  was  noted  for  his 
zeal  in  the  cause  of  the  Reformation,  and  who  was  the  patron 
of  Wishart.  James  Ormiston  did  not  follow  the  fortunes  of 
Bothwell  after  his  flight  from  Carberrj  ;  nor  was  he  brought 
to  trial  for  his  share  in  the  murder  of  Darnley  until  the  year 
1573,  six  years  after  that  atrocious  event.  His  confession, 
which  is  of  great  value  as  showing  who  were  the  real  perpe- 
trators of  the  crime,  will  be  more  specially  referred  to  in 
another  note. 


"  ^Twas  in  Craigmillar^s  ancient  pile 
That  first  I  lent  my  car 
To  the  (lark  ivords  of  Lethington.^^  —  P.  56. 

CONTERENXES    AT    CRAIGMILLAR. 

After  the  flight  of  the  insurgents  who  were  openly  con- 
cerned, in  the  murder  of  Riccio,  the  affairs  of  Scotland 
assumed  for  some  little  time  the  appearance  of  tranquillity. 
The  chief  power  was  lodged  in  the  hands  of  Murray,  Both- 
well,  Argyle,  Huntley,  and  Lethington  ;  and  if  all  these  men 
had  been  well  aifected  towards  their  Sovereign,  and  actuated 


212  EOTHVrELX. 

by  patriotic  motives,  there  would  have  l)een  no  difficulty  in 
settling  the  kingdom.  Knox,  the  leading  ecclesiastical 
demagogue,  had  disappeared  immediately  after  tlic  murder  of 
Riccio  ;  Morton,  Lindsay,  Ruthven,  and  other  daring  conspira- 
tors were  in  exile ;  and  Darnley,  at  least  in  political  influence, 
was  a  nxere  cipher.  He  had  forfeited  the  regard,  if  he  had 
not  entirely  alienated  from  himself  the  affections  of  his  wife, 
to  whom  the  Bands  and  other  evidence  of  his  consummate 
perfidy  had  been  shown.  He  Avas  hated  and  despised  by  those 
who  were  privy  to  the  designs  of  the  conspirators ;  and  his 
looseness,  debaucheries,  and  arrogance  were  such  that  he  was 
respected  by  none,  iet  was  he  the  occasion  of  a  new  con- 
spiracy, far  more  tragical  in  its  results  than  tlie  first. 

^Murray  and  Lcthihgton  were  both  traitors  ;  and  tlie  unex- 
ampled lenity  shown  to  them  by  their  Sovereign,  who  not 
only  had  pardoned  their  offences,  but  had  intrusted  them  with 
the  administration  of  affairs,  had  not  the  effect  of  riveting  their 
allegiance.  The  birth  of  a  prince  had  lessened  the  chances, 
whatever  these  might  have  been,  of  Murray's  succession  to 
the  throne.  Still  he  might  hope  to  reign  as  Regent,  if  not  as 
King,  and  he  never  for  a  moment  lost  sight  of  that  grand 
object  of  his  ambition.  Lethington  was  bound  heart  and 
soul  to  Murray,  whose  dark,  subtile,  and  intriguing  spirit 
very  much  resembled  his  own.  These  two  men,  therefore, 
were  ever  on  the  watch  for  opportunities  secretly  to  under- 
mine the  fortune  of  their  mistress  ;  but  their  power  was 
greatly  circumscribed  by  the  banishment  of  their  confede- 
rates, and  the  vigilance  of  the  noblemen  who  were  associated 
with  them  in  the  government. 

Of  these  Bothwell  was  the  most  formidable.  Without  any 
pretence  to  personal  religion,  he  was  nominally  a  Protestant, 
and  therefore  not  obnoxious  to  the  people  on  the  score  of 
Popery.     Since  his  recall  from  France,  he  had  done  good  scr- 


213 


vice  to  the  Queen,  and  had  risen  high  in  her  favor.  He  was 
Warden  of  the  three  Marches,  Lord  High  Admiral  of  Scot- 
laud,  and  General  of  the  laud  forces ;  and  his  connections 
were  extensive  and  powerful.  lie  was  held  in  great  dislike 
by  the  emissaries  of  Elizabeth,  who  had  ever  found  him  in- 
corruptible ;  and  he  was  regarded  by  the  conspirators  as  the 
formidable  enemy  of  their  faction.  But  with  all  this,  he  was 
a  profligate  man,  of  a  daring  and  ambitious  spirit  ;  unre- 
strained by  real  principle,  and  ready  to  go  at  any  lengths  for 
the  gratification  of  his  own  desires.  He  was  also  exorbitantly 
vain  ;  and  the  preference  which  was  shown  him  by  the 
Queen,  on  account  of  his  undoubted  services,  appears  to  have 
awakened  hopes,  which  possibly,  at  an  earlier  period,  he  had 
conceived. 

Had  Darnley,  after  the  bii'th  of  his  son,  conducted  himself 
with  ordinary  discretion,  it  might  have  been  difficult  for  the 
conspirators  to  gain  over  Bothwell  to  their  side.  But  that 
unhappy  young  Prince  Avas  thoroughly  infatuated.  His  per- 
sonal behavior  towards  the  Queen  was  of  the  most  heartless 
and  insolent  kind.  He  took  every  opportunity  of  thwarting 
her  government.  He  began  to  intrigue  with  the  Romanists, 
and  even  went  so  far  as  to  write  to  the  Pope,  denouncing  the 
Queen  for  not  having  restored  the  mass.  "  When,"  says 
Tytler,  "  his  letters  were  intercepted,  and  his  practices  dis- 
covered, he  complained  bitterly  of  the  neglect  into  which  he 
had  fallen,  affirmed  that  he  had  no  share  in  the  government, 
accused  the  nobles  of  a  plot  against  his  life,  and  at  last 
formed  the  desperate  resolution  of  leaving  the  kingdom,  and 
remonstrating  to  foreign  powers  against  the  cruelty  with 
which  he  was  treated."  Here  is  the  testimony  of  Monsieur 
de  Croc,  the  French  ambassador  to  Scotland,  written  on  15th 
Oct.  15GG,  as  to  the  relative  estimation  in  which  Darnley  and 
the  Queen  were  held  :   "  It  is  in  vain  to  imagine  that  he  shall 


214  BOTHWELL. 

be  able  to  raise  any  disturbance  ;  for  tliere  is  not  one  person 
in  all  this  kingdom,  from  the  higiiest  to  the  lowest,  that  re- 
gards him  any  further  than  is  agreeable  to  the  Queen.  And 
I  never  saw  her  Majesty  so  much  beloved,  esteemed,  and  hon- 
ored ;  nor  so  great  a  harmony  amongst  all  her  subjects,  as  at 
present  is,  by  her  wise  conduct ;  for  I  cannot  perceive  the 
smallest  diflei-ence  or  division.'' 

The  conduct  of  Darnley  at  length  became  so  outrageous 
that  the  health  of  the  Queen  was  visibly  affected.  She  fell 
into  a  profound  melancholy  ;  and  her  state  of  mind  and  body 
is  thus  described  in  a  letter  from  De  Croc  :  *'  The  Queen  is 
for  the  present  at  Craigmillar,  about  a  league  distant  from 
this  city.  She  is  in  the  hands  of  the  physicians,  and  I  do 
assure  you  is  not  at  all  well,  and  I  do  believe  the  principal 
part  of  her  disease  to  consist  of  a  deep  grief  and  sorrow. 
Nor  does  it  seem  possible  to  make  her  forget  the  same.  Still 
she  repeats  these  words,  '  I  could  wish  to  be  dead.'  You 
know  very  well  that  the  injury  she  has  received  is  exceeding 
great,  and  her  Majesty  will  never  forget  it." 

At  this  point  I  conceive  that  the  complicity  of  Bothwell 
begins.  It  is  impossible  to  ascertain  whether  or  not,  in  the 
first  instance,  Murray  and  Lotliington  confided  to  him  their 
whole  scheme,  and  induced  him  to  become  tlie  principal  actor 
in  the  murder  of  Darnley  by  offering  to  obtain  for  him  the 
hand  of  the  Queen.  I  think  it  proba1)lc  tliat  the}^  advanced 
more  cautiously,  and  in  the  manner  set  forth  in  the  remark- 
able "  Protestation  of  the  Earls  of  Huntley  and  Argyle, 
Touching  the  Murder  of  the  King  of  Scots,"  which  in  the 
year  1508  was  forwarded  to  the  Court  of  England,  and  which 
is  publisliod  in  Anderson's  Collections.  That  narrative  bears, 
that  in  December  15GG,  "  Her  Grace  being  in  the  Castle  of 
Craigmillar,  accompanied  by  us  above  written,  and  by  the 
Earls  of  Bothwell,  Murray,  and  Secretary  Lethington,  the 


NOTES.  215 

said  Earl  of  Murray  and  Lethington  came  into  the  chamber 
of  us,  the  Earl  of  Argyle,  in  the  morning,  we  being  in  our 
bed ;  who,  lamenting  the  banishment  of  the  Earl  of  Mor- 
ton, Lords  Lindsay  and  Ruthven,  with  the  rest  of  their 
faction,  said  that  the  occasion  of  the  murder  of  David 
slain  by  them  in  presence  of  the  Queen's  Majesty,  was  for  to 
trouble  and  impesche  the  Parliament,  wherein  the  Earl  of 
Murray  and  others  should  have  been  forfeited  and  declared 
rebels ;  and  seeing  that  this  same  was  chiefly  for  the  welfare 
of  the  Earl  of  Murray,  it  should  be  esteemed  ingratitude  if 
he  and  his  friends,  in  reciprocal  manner,  did  not  interpose  all 
that  was  possible  for  relief  of  the  saids  banished,  wherefore 
they  thought  that  we  of  our  part  should  have  been  as  desir- 
ous thereto  as  they  were.  And  we  agreeing  to  the  same,  to 
do  all  that  was  in  us  for  their  relief,  providing  that  the 
Queen's  Majesty  should  not  be  offended  thereat.  On  this 
Lethington  proponed  and  said,  that  the  nearest  and  the  best 
way  to  obtain  the  said  Earl  of  Morton's  pardon  was  to  promise 
to  the  Queen's  Majesty  to  find  a  means  to  make  divorce- 
ment betwixt  her  Grace  and  the  King  her  husband,  who 
had  offended  her  Highness  so  highly  in  many  ways.  Where- 
unto  we  answering  that  we  knew  not  how  that  might  be 
done,  Lethington  said  (the  Earl  of  Murray  being  ever  pre- 
sent), '  I\Iy  Lord,  care  not  you  thereof.  We  shall  find  the 
means  well  enough  to  make  her  quit  of  him,  so  that  you  and 
my  Lord  of  Huntley  will  only  behold  the  matter,  and  not  be 
offended  thereat.'  And  then  they  send  to  my  Lord  of  Hunt- 
ley, praying  him  to  come  to  our  chamber.  This  is  as  they 
dealt  with  us  particularly  ;  now  let  us  show  what  followed 
after  that  we  were  assembled. 

"  We,  Earl  of  Huntley,  being  in  that  said  chamber,  the 
saids  Earl  of  Murray  and  Lethington  opened  the  matter 
likewise  to  us  in  manner  foresaid,  promising,  if  we  would 


216  BOTIIAYELL. 

consent  to  the  same,  that  they  should  find  the  means  to 
restore  us  in  our  own  lands  and  offices,  and  they  to  stand 
good  friend  unto  us,  and  cause  the  said  Earl  of  Morton, 
liuthven,  and  all  the  rest  of  that  company,  to  do  the  like  in 
time  coming.  Our  answer  was,  it  should  not  stop  by  us  that 
the  matter  come  not  to  effect  in  all  might  be  profitable  and 
honorable  both  for  them  and  us  ;  and  specially  where  the 
pleasure,  weal,  and  contentment  of  the  Queen's  Majesty 
consisted.  And  thereon  we  four,  viz.  Earls  of  Huntley, 
Argyle,  Murray,  and  Secretary  Lethington  passed  all  to  the 
Earl  of  BothwoU's  chamber  to  understand  his  advice  on 
these  things  proponed,  wherein  he  gainsaid  not  more  than 
we.  So  therefore  we  passed  all  together  toward  the  Queen's 
Grace.  Where  Lethington  —  after  he  had  reminded  her 
Majesty  of  a  great  number  of  grievous  and  intolerable  offences, 
that  the  King  (as  he  said),  ingrate  of  the  honor  received  of 
her  Highness,  had  done  to  her  Grace,  and  continuing  every 
day  from  evil  to  worse  —  proposed,  That  if  it  pleased  her 
Majesty  to  pardon  the  Earl  of  Morton,  Lords  Ruthven  and 
Lindsay,  with  their  company,  they  should  find  the  means, 
with  the  rest  of  the  nobility,  to  make  divorcement  betwixt 
her  Highness  and  the  King  her  husband,  which  should  not 
need  her  Grace  to  mel  (meddle)  therewith.  To  the  which  it 
was  necessary  that  her  Majesty  take  heed  to  make  resolution 
therein,  as  well  for  his  own  easement  as  well  of  the  realm  ; 
for  ho  troubled  her  Grace  and  us  all ;  and  remaining  with  her 
Majesty,  would  not  cease  till  he  did  her  some  other  evil  turn, 
when  that  her  Highness  would  be  mickle  impcsched  to  put 
remedy  thereto.  After  tliese  persuasions,  and  divers  others 
which  the  said  Lethington  used,  besides  those  that  every  one 
of  us  showed  particularly  to  her  Majesty,  to  bring  her  to  the 
said  purpose,  her  Grace  answered.  That  under  two  conditions 
she  might  understand  the  same.     The  one  that  the  divorce 


217 


was  made  laAvfully  ;  the  other  that  it  was  not  prejudice  to 
her  son,  otherwise  her  Highness  would  leather  endure  all  tor- 
ments, and  abide  the  perils  that  might  cliance  her  in  her 
Grace's  lifetime.  The  Earl  of  Bothwell  answered  :  That  he 
doubted  not  but  the  divorcement  might  be  made  without 
prejudice  in  any  wise  of  my  Lord  Prince  ;  alleging  the  exam- 
ple of  himself  that  he  ceased  not  to  succeed  to  his  father's 
heritage  without  any  difficulty,  albeit  there  was  divorce 
betwixt  him  and  his  mother.  It  was  also  proposed  that  after 
their  divorcement  the  King  should  remain  alone  in  one  part 
of  the  country,  and  the  Queen's  Majesty  in  another,  or  else 
he  should  retire  to  another  realm  ;  and  hereon  her  Majesty 
said,  that  peradventure  he  would  change  opinion,  that  it  were 
better  that  she  herself  for  a  time  should  pass  to  France,  abid- 
ing till  he  acknowledged  himself.  Then  Lethington,  taking 
the  speech,  said  :  '  Madam,  fancy  ye  not :  we  are  here  of  the 
principal  of  j'our  Grace's  nobility  and  Council,  that  shall 
find  the  means  that  your  Majesty  shall  be  quit  of  him  with- 
out prejudice  of  your  son  ;  and  albeit  that  my  Lord  of  Mur- 
ray here  present  be  little  less  scrupulous  for  a  Protestant  than 
your  Grace  is  for  a  Papist,  I  am  assured  he  will  look  through 
his  fingers  thereto,  and  will  behold  our  doings,  saying  noth- 
ing to  the  same.'  The  Queen's  Majesty  answered:  'I  will 
that  ye  do  nothing  whereby  any  spot  may  be  laid  upon  my 
honor  or  conscience,  and  therefore  I  pray  you  rather  let  the 
matter  be  in  the  estate  as  it  is,  abiding  till  God  of  His  good- 
ness put  remedy  thereto  ;  that  ye,  believing  to  do  me  service, 
may  possiljly  turn  to  my  hurt  and  displeasure.'  '  jMadame,' 
said  Lethington,  '  let  us  guide  the  matter  amongst  us,  and 
your  Grace  shall  see  nothing  but  good,  and  approved  by 
Parliament.' 

"So,  after  the  premises,  the  murder  of  the  said  Henry 
Stuart  following,  we  judge  in  our  conscience,  and  hold  for 

14 


218  BOTIIWELL. 

certain  and  truth,  that  the  saids  Earl  of  Murray  and  Secre- 
tary Lethington  were  authors,  inventors,  devisers,  council- 
lors, and  causers  of  the  said  murder,  in  wliat  manner  and  by 
"whatsomcver  persons  the  same  was  executed." 

Mr  Tjtlcr,  who  has  quoted  part  of  tlie  foregoing  remarka- 
ble document  in  bis  History  of  So'tland,  seems  to  tliink  that 
the  language  used  by  Lethington  conveyed  a  hint  that  Darn- 
ley  might  be  got  rid  of  ])y  violent  means.  I  am  sure  that, 
had  he  reflected  for  a  moment,  he  would  liave  seen  the 
extreme  absurdity  of  any  such  construction.  Argyle  and 
Huntley  are  telling  M'hat  took  place  in  their  presence,  and 
Lethington  was  their  spokesman  ;  thereibrc,  if  this  construc- 
tion is  to  be  put  upon  Maitland's  language,  the  two  Earls 
must  be  held  as  acknowledging  their  own  complicity  in  the 
murderous  design.  That  evidently  was  not  tlieir  intention. 
Besides  tiiis,  his  closing  words,  referring  to  the  approval  of 
Parliament,  utterly  negative  such  an  idea.  The  impression 
made  upon  me  by  the  })erusal  of  this  document  is,  that 
Mary,  though  greatly  and  most  justly  incensed  against  Darn- 
ley,  was  unwilling  to  take  the  extreme  step  of  a  divorce ; 
partly  because  she  feared  that  it  miglit  prejudice  her  son, 
and  partly  because  she  had  not  abandoned  all  hope  of 
Darnley's  reformation.  Her  language  is  that  of  pious  resig- 
nation to  the  will  of  God,  not  of  indignant  anger, 

It  must  also  be  remarked  that  there  is  notliiiig  in  tliis  docu- 
ment to  criminate  Bothwell.  He  was  the  last  consulted  ;  and 
the  only  remark  of  liis  specially  quoted,  is  an  argument  in 
favor  of  the  proposed  divorce.  But  if  not  an  accomplice 
then,  he  became  so  immediately  afterwards ;  and  there  is 
little  duultt  tliiit,  Ix'fore  lie  left  C'raigmilhir,  he  received  a 
Band  subscribed  l)y  persons  of  influence  consenting  to  the 
murder  of  Darnley.  That  Band  was  probably  among  the 
private  papers  of  Bothwell,  which  fell  into  the  bauds  of  iMur- 


IsOTES,  219 

ray  ;  and  if  so,  was  of  course  destroyed.  Its  existence,  and 
to  a  certain  extent  its  tenor,  Avere  vouched  for  by  Ormiston  in 
his  confession,  reported  by  John  Brand,  jNIinister  at  Holy- 
rood  ;  and  as  the  passage  is  very  curious,  I  shall  transcribe 
it:  — 

"  He  (Bothwell)  let  mo  see  the  contract  subscribed  by  four 
or  five  handwritings,  which  he  affirmed  to  me  was  the  sub- 
scription of  the  Eirl  of  Huntley,  Argyle,  the  Secretary  Mait- 
land,  and  Sir  James  Balfour,  and  alleged  that  many  more 
promised  who  would  assist  him  if  he  was  put  at  :  And  there- 
after read  the  said  contract,  which,  as  I  remember,  contained 
these  words  in  effect  — '  That  inasmuch  as  it  was  tliought 
expedient  and  most  profitable  for  the  common  wealth,  by  the 
whole  Nobility  and  Lords  undersubscribed.  that  such  a  youno- 
fool  and  proud  tyrant  should  not  reign  nor  bear  rule  over 
them  ;  and  that  for  di^■ers  causes  therefore,  that  they  all  had 
concluded  he  should  be  put  off,  by  one  way  or  other  ;  and 
whoso3ver  should  take  the  deed  m  hand,  or  do  it,  they  should 
defend  and  fortify  it  as  themselves ;  for  it  should  be,  by  every 
one  of  their  own,  reckoned  and  holden  done  by  themselves  : 
Which  writing,  as  the  said  Earl  showed  unto  me,  was  devised 
by  Sir  James  Balfour,  subscribed  by  them  all  a  quarter  of  a 
year  before  tlie  deed  was  done.'  " 

This  confession,  though  it  bjars  to  be  emitted  by  Ormiston. 
was  not  subscribed  by  him  ;  but  the  writer  states  that  it  was 
read  over  to  him  in  the  presence  of  the  Constable  of  the  Castle 
of  Edinlnirgh,  and  other  persons  of  character  ;  and  I  see  no 
ground  for  doubting  its  authenticity.  It  contains  a  heavy 
charge  against  the  Earls  of  Huntley  and  Argyle,  and  gives 
countenance  to  the  idea  that  the  nobility  were  nearly  unani- 
mous in  consenting  to  the  death  of  Darnley.  When  we 
consider  that  Mary's  principal  accusers  were  the  men  most 
deeply  implicated  in  the  deed,  what  a  fearful  picture  of 
treachery  and  turpitude  is  disclosed  I 


220  BOTHWELL. 


"  I  Stood  that  night  in  Darnlcifs  room, 

Above  the  chamber  charged  with  dcalh.'^  —  P.  84. 

MURDER    OF   DARNLET. 

The  narrative  contained  in  the  third  part  of  the  poem  will 
be  found  to  correspond  closely  vrith  the  account  of  the  mur- 
der given  hy  Bothwell's  accomplices,  Ormiston,  Hay  of  Talla, 
and  Hepburn  of  Bolton,  in  their  examinations  and  confes- 
sions, •which  are  printed  at  full  length  in  Pitcairn's  Criminal 
Trials.  Yet  over  some  parts  of  this  frightful  tragedy  there 
still  hangs  a  cloud  of  mystery  :  in  particular,  it  appears  impos- 
sible to  ascertain  -whethor  Darnley  perished  by  the  explosion, 
or  whether  he  was  strangled  in  bed,  or  in  the  orchard,  when 
attempting  to  escape.  There  is  strong  evidence  to  support 
the  latter  view.  On  the  following  morning,  liis  body,  and 
that  of  his  servant  Taylor,  wei-e  found  lying  under  a  tree,  in 
an  orchard,  about  eighty  yards  from  the  ruins.  There  were 
no  marks  of  fire  or  of  actual  injury  on  his  person  ;  and  what 
is  most  remarkable,  his  furred  pelisse  and  pantouffles  were 
found  close  by.  The  bodies  of  four  men,  members  of  Darn- 
ley's  household,  were  found  crushed  among  the  ruins.  The 
only  survivor,  Thomas  Nelson,  was  asleep  when  the  explosion 
took  place.  Buchanan  says  that  on  that  niglit  there  were 
three  distinct  bands  of  conspirators  watcliing  the  house. 
Drury,  -m-iting  not  very  long  after  to  Cecil,  makes  an  aver- 
ment to  the  same  eflFect,  and  specifies  Ker  of  Fawdonside,  the 
ruffian  who,  at  the  murder  of  Riccio,  levelled  a  pistol  at  the 
Queen,  as  liaving  been  on  horseback  near  the  place,  to  aid  in 
case  of  necessity.  Drury  further  uses  these  significant  words, 
"  the  King  was  long  of  dying,  and  to  his  strength  made 
debate  for  his  life."     Melville  says,  '•  it  was  spoken  that  the 


NOTES.  221 

King  was  taken  forth,  and  brought  down  to  a  stable,  where  a 
napkin  was  stopped  in  his  mouth,  and  he  therewith  suffo- 
cated." Herries'  account  is  different,  but  very  circumstan- 
tial. He  says  that  Both  well,  after  leaving  Holy  rood,  "  went 
straight  to  the  Kirk-of-Field,  up  Robloch's  Wj-nd,  where  he 
met  with  William  Parris  and  John  Hamilton  (a  servant  to  the 
Archbishop  of  St.  Andrews) ,  who  had  stolen  the  keys  of  the 
gates.  They  entered  softly  the  King's  chamber,  and  found 
him  asleep,  where  they  both  strangled  him  and  his  man, 
William  Taylor,  that  lay  by  him  on  a  pallet-bed.  Those  as 
sassins  that  are  named  to  be  with  Bothwell,  and  actors,  were 
those  two  above  named,  Parris  and  Hamilton,  John  Hay  of 
Talla,  John  Hej^burn  of  Bolton,  George  Dalgleish,  and  one 
Powrie,  Bothwell's  men  all ;  James  Ormistou  of  that  Ilk 
(called  Black  Ormiston),  Hob  Ormiston,  and  Patrick  Wilson. 
After  they  had  strangled  the  King  and  his  man  dead,  they 
carried  them  both  out  at  a  back  gate  of  the  town  wall,  which 
opened  at  the  back  of  the  house,  and  laid  them  down  care- 
lessly, one  from  another,  and  then  fired  some  barrels  of 
powder  which  they  had  put  in  the  room  below  the  King's 
chamber  ;  which,  with  a  great  noise,  blew  up  the  house. 
They  imagined  the  people  would  conceive  the  house  to  be 
blown  up  by  accident,  and  the  corpse  of  the  King  and  his 
man  to  be  blown  over  the  wall  by  the  force  of  the  powder. 
But  neither  were  their  shirts  singet,  nor  their  clothes  burned 
(which  were  likeways  laid  by  them),  nor  their  skins  anything 
touched  by  fire  ;  which  gave  easie  satisfaction  to  all  that 
looked  upon  them." 

My  own  conviction  is,  that  Darnley  was  strangled  in  the 
orchard  while  attempting  to  escape  ;  that  he  had  been  awak- 
ened either  by  the  sound  of  the  locking  of  the  door,  or  by  the 
smell  of  the  burning  fuse,  which,  Bolton  says,  was  lighted 
for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the  explosion  took  place  ;  and 


222  BOTHWELL. 

that,  in  his  haste,  he  had  caught  up  the  garments  which  were 
found  beside  his  corpse.  I  do  not  sec  how  it  is  possible  to 
account  otherwise  for  the  appearance  of  the  bodies  and  the 
scattering  of  the  dress.  For  let  it  be  supposed  possible  that 
the  bodies  could  be  blown  through  the  roof,  and  cast  such  a 
distance  into  the  orchard,  without  presenting  any  visible 
marks,  still  no  one  can  believe  that  loose  articles  of  dress 
could  be  carried  there  by  the  explosion.  I  think  that  the 
real  details  of  the  murder,  from  whatsoever  source  they  might 
have  come,  were  known  to  Drury  ;  for  the  accuracy  of  the 
information  obtained  by  the  agents  of  Elizabeth  with  regard 
to  every  imjwrtant  event  in  Scotland  is  truly  wonderful. 
But  if  Darnley  was  murdered  in  the  orchard,  and  not  in  the 
house,  I  must  also  conclude  that  other  actors,  unknown  to 
Bothwoll  and  his  men,  were  engaged  in  the  villanous  work. 

Bolton  and  Talla,  who  confessed  to  having  put  the  powder 
in  the  house,  fired  the  match,  and  locked  the  door  behind 
them,  averred,  both  in  their  depositions  when  examined,  and 
in  their  confessions  before  execution,  that  there  were  but  nine 
of  their  company,  and  that  they  neither  saw  nor  knew  of 
any  others.  The  nine  were  Bothwell,  two  Ormistons,  Bolton, 
Talla,  Dalgleish,  Wilson,  Powrie,  and  French  Paris.  And 
the  confession  of  Bolton,  corroborated  by  that  of  Talla,  bears, 
"He  knows  no  others,  but  that  he  (Darnley)  was  blown  in 
the  air ;  for  he  was  handled  with  no  man's  hands  as  he  saw ; 
and  if  he  was,  it  was  with  others,  and  not  with  them." 
They  both  concur  in  saying  that  the  two  Ormistons  went 
away  after  the  powder  was  i)ut  in,  the  Queen  being  then  in 
the  house  with  Darnley,  and  that  tliey  did  not  return  ; 
which  tallies  perfectly  with  the  account  given  by  Ormiston 
in  his  C(jnfet!«ion,  for  he  says  that  the  clock  struck  ten  as  he 
returned  to  his  lodging,  •'  to  avoid  suspicion,  that  no  man 
should  say  I  was  at  the  deed-doing  ;  for  I  was  an  hour  and 


223 


more  iu'my  bed  before  the  blast  and  crack  was."  Wilson 
and  Powrie  were  mere  servants,  who  brought  the  powder,  by 
order  of  Bolion,  and  having  delivered  it,  returned  to  the 
Abbey,  where  they  waited,  until  summoned  by  Bothwell  to 
go  with  him  to  the  Kirk-of-Ficld.  They  were  carrying  back 
the  mail  and  trunk  in  which  tlie  powder  had  been  conveyed, 
when,  "  as  they  came  up  the  Black  Friar  Wynd,  the  Queen's 
grace  was  going  before  them  with  light  torches."  This 
marks  the  time  of  their  departure.  Dalgloish,  Bothwell 's 
groom  of  the  chamber,  was  not  at  the  Kirk-of-Field  in  the 
earlier  part  of  the  night,  and  only  witnessed  the  catastrophe. 
Paris  went  away  at  the  same  time  as  Ormiston,  but  he  seems 
to  have  come  back  to  witness  the  explosion.  This  man, 
whose  real  name  was  Nicholas  Hubert,  and  who  had  previ- 
ously been  in  BothwelFs  service,  was  the  party  who  furnished 
the  keys.  There  is,  however,  trace  of  one  other  person, 
Archibald  Betoun,  who  was  Queen's  usher,  and  the  proper 
custodier  of  the  room  in  which  the  powder  was  placed.  Nel- 
son, the  sole  survivor  of  the  explosion,  deponed  that  this 
Betoun  had  the  keys  ;  and  Ormiston,  in  his  confession,  says, 
that  '•  Ai'chie  Betoun"  was  along  with  Paris  while  they 
were  preparing  to  lay  down  the  fuse.  But  apart  from  this, 
all  the  confederates  and  servants  of  Bothwell,  who  were  ex- 
ecuted for  their  share  in  the  murder,  declared  that  they  knew 
of  no  others  present  at  or  concerned  in  the  deed.  ,  Neither 
Ormiston,  nor  Bolton,  nor  Talla,  could  have  any  motive  or 
interest  in  giving  a  false  account ;  for  they  all  three  admitted 
that  they  were  principal  actors  in  causing  the  explosion,  by 
which  they  evidently  thought  that  Darnley  perished. 

Powrie,  however,  stated  in  his  deposition,  that  when  he 
and  Wilson  brought  the  powder  to  the  gate  at  the  entrance 
of  the  Black  Friars,  there  were  with  Bothwell  two  strangers 
"  who  had  cloaks  about  their  faces  ;  "  and  upon  being  re- 


224  BOTHWELX. 

examined,  he  said  that  the  Earl  Both  well  came  to  them  at 
the  gate,  "  accomiianicd  Avith  three  more,  who  had  their 
cloaks,  and  'mules'  upon  their  feet."  Mulos  were  large 
slippers,  worn  to  prevent  the  tread  of  the  feet  from  being 
heard.  From  evidence  given  at  a  much  later  trial,  it  appears 
extremely  probable  that  one  of  these  strangers  was  Archibald 
Douglas,  Parson  of  Glasgow,  a  near  relative  of  Morton.  But, 
whoever  they  were,  they  had  departed  by  ten  o'clock ;  and 
both  Hepburn  of  Bolton,  and  Hay  of  Talla,  who  were  in  the 
house  "  till  after  two  hours  after  midnight,"  when  the 
match  was  lighted,  say  positively  in  their  depositions  that 
they  knew  of  no  others  concerned,  save  the  nine  in  their 
company.  It  is  quite  possible  that  their  depositions  may 
have  been  altered  to  suit  the  purposes  of  Murray  and  Morton, 
before  whom  they  were  emitted  ;  but  there  is  no  evidence  to 
that  effect,  and  we  must  take  them  as  they  stand.  If  their 
depositions  are  entitled  to  credence,  they  establish  this  much, 
that  these  two  men,  as  well  as  Bothwell,  believed  that  Darn- 
ley  was  asleep  in  tlie  house  Avheu  the  explosion  took  place, 
and  tiiut  no  other  company  was  on  the  watch. 

But,  as  Miss  Strickland,  who  has  taken  great  paiiiy  in  the 
investigation  of  tliis  ])uint,  luis  shown,  it  appears  from  depo- 
sitions recently  discovered  in  the  General  Register  House  of 
Eilinburgli,  that  on  that  night  two  detachments  of  men,  one 
of  eight,  and  the  other  of  eleven  (two  of  whom  were  in 
armor) ,  were  seen  hurrying  from  the  Kirk-of-Field  immedi- 
ately before  and  after  the  explosion.  There  is  thus  evidence 
that  another  party,  besides  that  of  Bothwell,  was  on  the 
watch  ;  and  this  circumstance  strongly  corroborates  the  ac- 
count of  tlie  murder  which  was  sent  by  Drury  to  Cecil. 

These  C()Uipii<;ition8  may  appear  to  the  casual  reader  un- 
natural and  ovcristrained  ;  fur  at  (irst  sight  it  seems  extremely 
imjirobalile  thiil  two  bodies  of  conspirators  sliould  have  been 


225 


sent  on  the  same  errand,  without  the  one  being  cognizant  of 
the  presence  of  the  other.  But  then  it  must  be  kept  in  view 
that  the  main  object  of  the  other  conspirators  was  to  impli- 
cate Bothwcll,  and  to  avoid  anything  that  might  leave  a 
trace  of  their  participation  in  the  deed.  Murray  found  it 
convenient  to  go  over  to  Fife  on  the  morning  before  the 
murder,  selecting  Sunday  as  his  travelling  day,  which  assur- 
edly was  a  great  lapse  in  so  rigid  a  professor  of  Calvinism. 
Morton  was  at  St.  Andrews.  His  kinsman,  Archibald 
Douglas,  was  indeed  in  the  plot,  as  the  Earl  long  afterwards 
confessed  on  the  eve  of  his  execution,  and  had  told  him  of 
the  purpose  ;  but  then,  as  he  said  to  the  inquisitive  minis- 
ters, "  Mr.  Archibald  at  that  time  was  a  dej)ender  of  the 
Earl  of  Bothwell,  making  court  for  himself,  rather  than  a 
depender  of  mine."  In  short,  the  leading  conspirators  were 
desirous  of  two  things  —  first,  that  Darnley  should  be  effec- 
tually disposed  of;  and,  secondly,  that  the  whole  blame 
should  rest  on  the  shoulders  of  Bothwell  —  and  they  took 
their  measures  accordingly. 

It  seems  vei-y  clear  that  they  had  not  much  faith  in  Both- 
well's  dexterity  ;  for  they  made  provision,  unknown  to  him, 
that  he  should  not  blunder  in  the  execution  of  his  design. 
From  Bolton's  deposition  and  Ormiston's  confession,  it  would 
appear  that,  until  two  days  before  the  murder  took  place, 
Bothwell  understood  that  Darnley  was  to  be  disposed  of  in  a 
different  manner  —  viz.  that  each  conspiring  nobleman  was  to 
send  "  two  servants  to  the  doing  thereof,  either  in  the  fields 
or  otherwise,  as  he  may  be  apprehended."  "  But,"  said 
Bolton,  "  within  two  days  before  the  murder,  the  said  Earl 
changed  purpose  of  the  slaying  of  the  King  in  the  fields,  be- 
cause then  it  would  be  known  ;  and  showed  to  them  (Ormis- 
ton,  Bolton,  and  Talla)  what  way  it  might  be  used  better  by 
the  powder."     Now,   as   to    the  quantity  of  powder  used. 


226  BOTIIWELL. 

That  was  contained  in  a  trunk  and  a  mail  or  portmanteau, 
and  Avas  brought  by  Powria  and  W'ilson  from  the  Earl's  lodg- 
ing   in   Ilolyrood  to  the  Black  Friars   gate,    where  it  was 
handed  over  to  Bolton  and  Talla.     It  was  in  bags,  and  was 
poured  out  loose  on  the  floor  of  the  room  below  Darnley's 
chamber.     All  this  is  distinctly  proven.     Bolton  and  Talla, 
after  lighting  the  match  —  a  soldier's  fuse  "  of  half  a  fathom 
or  thereby  "  —  locked  the  door,  and  joined  Bothwell  outside  ; 
and  so  long  was  it  until  the  explosion  took  place,  that  Both- 
well  could  hardly  be  restrained  from  entering  the  house  to 
ascertain  whether  the  match  had  not  failed.     When  it  came, 
the  explosion  was  awful.     Not  only  the  upper  part  of  the 
house,  but  the  whole  fabric,  from  the  foundation-stones,  was 
heaved  into  air.     French  Paris  said,  it  was  like  a  tempest  or 
a   thunder-peal,    and   that   for   fear   thereof  he    fell   to  the 
ground,  witli  every  hair  on  his  head  standing  up  like  awls  ! 
To   use   the  language  of  the  Privy  Council,  the  house  was 
"  dung  into  dross."    The  same  phrase  is  used  in  jNIary's  letter 
to  Archbishop  Betoun  (Labauoff,  vol.  ii.  p.  3).     "  The  mat- 
ter is  so  horrible  and  so  strange,  as  we  believe  the  like  was 
never  heard  of  in  any  country.     This  night  past,  benig  tlie 
9th   February,  a  little  after  two  hours  after  midnight,  the 
house  wherein  the  King  was  lodged  was  in  an  instant  blown 
in  the  air,  he  lying  sleeping  in  iiis  bed,  with  such  a  vehemency 
that  of  the  whole  lodging,  walls  and  other,  there  is  nothing 
remaining  —  no,  not  a  stone  above  another,  but   all  other 
carried  far  away,  or  dung  in  dross  to  tlie  very  ground-stone." 
In  the  first  volume  of  Chalmers's  Life  of  Queen  Mary,  there 
is  a  fac-simile  of  a  drawing,  taken  at  tlie  time,  of  the  ruins, 
which  entirely  corroborates  tiie  statement  that  the  house  was 
blown  up  from  the  very  I'uundations.     I  do  not  pretend  to  be 
a  muster  of  tlie  theory  of  explosive  forces,  but  i  have  asked 
the  opinion  of  some  competent  judges,  and  I  am  assured,  that 


227 


if  the  facts  above  stated,  regarding  the  quantity  of  powder 
deposited  by  Bothwell's  peojile,  are  correct,  "it  is  absolutely 
impossible  that  the  house  could  have  been  so  demolished  from 
the  foundation.  Here,  then,  is  another  mystery.  Bothwell's 
only  agents  were  the  men  specially  named  ;  and  they  did 
nothing  more  than  bring  to  the  Kirk-of-Field,  on  the  night  of 
the  murder,  a  quantity  of  powder  quite  inadequate  to  pro- 
duce the  actual  result.  The  house  had  been  previously  un- 
dermined. There  was  no  difficulty  in  doing  this,  for  the 
house  of  Kirk-of-Field  belonged  to  Robert  Balfour,  brother 
of  Sir  James  Balfour,  who  drew  the  original  Band  for  the 
King's  death,  and  he  was  entirely  in  the  hands  of  Leth- 
ington.  This  is  not  a  mere  hypothesis,  for  the  feet  rests 
upon  undeniable  evidence  :  and  it  is  proved  that  both  Sir 
James  Balfour -and  Archibald  Douglas  sent  powder  for 
the  purpose.  Miss  Strickland  has  the  great  merit  of  hav- 
ino-  brought  together,  in  a  little  compass,  all  the  evidence 
upon  that  point.  That  such  were  the  operations  of  the 
conspirators  is  also  evident  from  the  terms  of  the  indictment 
raised  against  Morton  in  1581,  in  which  it  is  set  furth  that 
he  "  most  vilely,  unmercifully,  and  treasonably  slew  and 
murdered  him  (Darnley),  with  William  Taylor  and  Andrew 
MacKaig,  his  cubieulars  (grooms),  when  as  they,  buried  in 
sleep,  were  taking  the  night's  rest,  burned  his  hail  lodging 
foresaid,  and  raised  the  same  in  the  air  by  force  of  gunpow- 
der, which,  a  little  before  was  placed  and  in  put  by  him  and 
his  foresaids  under  the  (j round,  and  anr/ular  stands,  and  within 
the  vaults,  laiyh  and  dtrnc  parts  and  places  thereof,  to  that 
effe  ty 

These  operations,  however,  seemed  to  have  been  studiously 
concealed  from  Bothwell ;  nor  was  the  idea  of  blowing  up 
the  house  suggested  to  him  until  two  days  before  the  period 
fixed  for  the  murder.     Like  many  other  men  of  action,  Both 


228  BOTHWELL. 

well  was  infirm  of  purpose  and  liable  to  be  imposed  on,  as 
indeed  his  whole  history  sliows,  and  he  fell  at  once  into  the 
snare.  But  he  never  Avas  informed  that  the  house  was  al- 
ready undermined —  for  this  reason,  that  the  other  conspir- 
ators calculated  on  his  taking  such  steps  as  would  avert 
suspicion  from  themselves.  And  so  it  proved  ;  for  the  powder, 
conveyed  to  the  Kirk-of-Field  in  the  trunk  and  valise,  was 
brought  on  the  Saturday,  by  Bothwell's  order,  from  the 
magazine  at  Dunbar,  of  which  he  was  keeper,  to  his  apart- 
ments in  Ilolyrood  —  was  carried  by  his  own  servants,  and 
laid  down  by  his  own  associates —  things  which  could  not  be 
done  so  secretly  as  to  defy  detection.  In  consequence,  he 
was  looked  upon  as  the  sole  deviser  of  the  murder,  which, 
however,  there  are  strong  grounds  for  believing  was  not  per- 
petrated by  his  means. 


"  And  pictures  on  the  Cross  were  hung 

Of  him  tvho  died  at  Kirk-of -Field.'''  —  P.  97- 

POLITICAL    CARICATURES.  "  TUE    MERMAID." 

"  Among  otlicr  cruel  devices  practised  against  INIary  at  this 
season  by  her  cowardly  assailants,  was  tlie  dissemination  of 
gross  personal  caricatures.  Aviiich,  like  the  placards  charging 
her  as  an  accomplice  in  her  husband's  murder,  were  fixed  on 
the  doors  of  clmrches  and  other  public  places  in  Edinburgh. 
Rewards  were  vainly  offered  for  the  discovery  of  the  limners 
by  whom  these  treasonable  painted  tickets,  as  they  were 
styled  in  the  proclamations,  Avere  designed.  Mary  was  pecu- 
liarly annoyed  at  one  of  these  productions,  called  '  The  Mer- 
maid,' which  represented  her  in  the  character  of  a  crowned 
syren,  with  a  sceptre  formed  of  a  fish's  tail  in  her  hand. 


NOTES.  229 

and  flanked  -with  the  regal  initials  M.  R.  This  curious  speci- 
men of  party  malignity  is  still  preserved  in  the  State  Paper 
Office." — Miss  Strickland's  Life  of  Queen  Mary. 

I  recommend  this  passage  to  the  notice  of  future  commen- 
tators on  Shakespeare  ;  because  it  appears  to  me  very  strongly 
to  corroborate  the  idea  originally  started  by  Warburton,  that 
the  following  well-known  lines  in  the  "  Midsummer  Night's 
Dream ' '  were  meant  to  apply  to  Mary  :  — 

"  My  gentle  Puck,  come  hilher  :   Thou  remember'st 
Since  once  I  sat  upon  a  promontory, 
And  heard  a  mermaid,  on  a  dolphin's  back. 
Uttering  such  dulcet  and  harmonious  breath, 
That  the  rude  sea  grew  civil  at  her  song  ; 
And  certain  stars  shot  madly  from  their  spheres, 
To  hear  the  sea-maid's  music." 

This  theory  of  Warburton's  led  to  an  animated  controversy, 
his  opponents  declaring  that  they  were  unable  to  under- 
stand why  Mary  should  be  allegorized  as  a  mermaid.  Here 
is  historical  evidence  that  she  was  so  represented  many  years 
before  Shakespeare  wrote. 


"  Old  Lennox  failed  in  his  appeal, 

And  my  acquittal  was  complete.^''  —  P.  102. 


TRIAL    OF    BOTHWELL. 


The  trial  of  Bothwell  was  a  mere  sham  and  mockery  of 
justice.  The  management  of  it  was  left  to  Lethington,  Mor- 
ton, Huntley,  and  Argyle,  of  whom  two  at  least  were  partici- 
pators in  Darnley's  murder,  while  Huntley  was  the  brother- 


230  BOTIIWELL. 

in-liiw  of  Bothwell.  "  The  whole  proceedings,"  says  :Mr. 
Tvtler,  "  had  already  been  arranged  in  a  council,  held  some 
little  time  before,  in  which  Bothwell  liad  taken  his  seat,  and 
given  directions  regarding  liis  OAvn  arraignment.  The  jury 
consisted  princijially,  if  not  wholly,  of  the  favorers  of  the 
Earl  ;  tiie  law-officers  of  the  Crown  were  either  in  his  inter- 
est, or  overawed  into  silence ;  no  witnesses  were  summoned ; 
the  indictment  was  framed  with  a  flaw  too  manifest  to  be 
accidental ;  and  his  accuser,  the  Earl  of  Lennox,  who  was 
on  his  road  to  the  city,  surrounded  by  a  large  force  of  his 
friends,  had  received  an  order  not  to  enter  the  town  with 
more  tiian  six  in  his  company."  Morton  and  Lethington 
rode  with  Bothwell  to  tiie  Toll)ooth,  where  the  trial  took 
place.  lie  was  attended  Ijy  two  hundred  harquebussiers,  and 
escorted  by  upwards  o?  fovr  thousand  gentlemen  ;  and  so  he 
passed  "  with  a  meri-y  and  lusty  cheer  "  to  the  Tolbooth. 

This  was  upon  the  12th  of  April,  more  than  two  months 
after  tlie  murder,  during  which  time  the  common  people  had 
been  thoroughly  impressed  with  the  conviction  tliat  Bothwell 
was  the  real  assassin,  and  that  the  Queen  was  privy  to  the 
design.  In  fact,  the  public  mind  was  in  a  state  of  violent 
excitement.  Murray,  as  was  his  custom  on  the  approach  of 
any  crisis  wlien  liis  presence  might  ha  e  inconvenient  results 
for  liiins^.'lf,  left  Edinl)urgh  three  days  before  the  trial  ;  but 
his  faction  to  a  man  supported  Bothwell.  This  latter  circum- 
stance ought  especially  to  be  borne  in  mind,  because  it  shows 
that  Bothwell  was  not  deserted  by  the  noliility  (m  account  of 
his  participation  in  the  slaughter  of  Darnley.  No  new  fact 
relating  to  that  matter  emerged  between  the  day  of  his  trial 
and  that  when  he  fled  from  Carberry  Hill  ;  no  divulgements 
of  furtiier  or  concealed  evidence  were  made.  Tlie  voluntary 
escort  of  four  tiiousand  gentlemen  to  his  trial,  is  an  unequi- 
vocal proijf  (jf  the  strength  of  his  position  at  the  time. 


NOTES.  231 

He  was  not  deserted  because  the  confederates  beliei-ed  him  to 
be  guilty  of  the  murder  if  Darn  'ey.  They  knew  him  to  be 
guilty,  but  in  the  meantime,  instead  of  deserting,  they  sup- 
ported him;  because  through  his  means,  and  by  stimulating 
his  exorbitant  ambition,  they  expected  to  accomplish  their 
great  design,  which  was  the  overthrow  and  ruin  of  the 
Queen.  Their  next  advance  in  that  direction  is  referred  to  in 
the  note  immediately  following. 


"  They  rjave  tt  me  — that  fatal  Band:' —  V.  110. 

BAND    MADE   BT   A    NUMBER    OF    THE    NOBILITT   IN   FAVOR   OF    THE 
EARL    OF   BOTUWELL,    I'JtH   APRIL,    1567. 

"We  undersubscribing,  understanding,  that  altho'  the  noble 
and  mighty  Lord  James  E.irl  Eothvvell,  Lord  Ilailes,  Crichton, 
and  Liddesdale,  Great  Admiral  ot  Scotland,  and  Lieutenant 
to  our  Sovereign  Lady  over  all  the  Marches  thereof,  being 
not  only  bruited  and  calumniated  by  placards  privily  affixed 
on  the  public  places  of  the  Kirk  of  Edinburgh,  and  otherways 
slandered  by  his  evil  willers  and  privy  Enemies,  as  Art  and 
Part  of  the  heinous  Murder  of  the  King,  the  Queen's  Majes- 
ty's late  Husband,  but  also  by  special  Letters  sent  to  her 
Highness  by  the  Earl  of  Lennox,  and  dilated  of  the  same  crime, 
who  in  his  Letters  earnestly  desired  and  required  the  said 
Earl  Bothwell  to  be  tried  of  the  said  murder,  —  he,  by  con- 
dign Inquest  and  Assize  of  certain  Noblemen  his  Peers,  and 
other  Barons  of  good  reputation,  is  found  guiltless  and  inno- 
cent of  the  odious  crime  objected  to  him,  and  acquitted 
thereof,  conform  to  the  Laws  of  this  Realm  ;  who  also,  for 


232  BOTHAVELI,. 

further  trial  of  his  part,  has  oftbred  himself  rcadie  to  defend 
and  maintain  his  innocence  against  all  that  will  impugn  the 
same  by  the  Law  of  Arms,  and  so  has  omitted  nothing  for 
the  perfect  trial  of  his  accusation,  tliat  any  Nobleman  of 
honour,  or  by  the  Laws  ought  to  underlie  and  accomplish. 
And  AVe  considering  the  Ancientness  and  Nobleness  of  his 
House,  the  honouralile  and  good  service  done  by  his  predeces- 
sors, and  specially  by  himself,  to  our  Sovereign,  and  for  the 
defence  of  this  her  Highness'  Realm  against  the  enemies 
thereof  and  the  Amity  and  Friendship  which  so  long  has  per- 
sovered  betwixt  his  House  and  every  one  of  us,  and  otlicrs  our 
Predecessors  in  particular  :  and  therewithal  seeing  how  all 
Noblemen,  being  in  reputation,  honour,  and  credit  with  their 
Sovereign,  arc  commonly  subject  to  sustain  as  well  the  vain 
bruits  of  the  inconstant  common  people,  as  the  accusations 
and  calumnies  of  their  adversaries,  envious  of  our  Place  and 
Vocation,  which  we  of  our  duty  and  friendship  are  astricted 
and  debt-bound  to  repress  and  withstand  ;  Tuerefore  oblige 
us,  and  each  one  of  us,  upon  our  Faith  and  Honours,  and 
Truth  in  our  bodies,  as  we  are  Noblemen,  and  will  answer 
to  God,  that  in  case  hereafter  any  manner  of  person  or  per- 
sons, in  whatsoever  manner,  shall  happen  to  insist  further  to 
the  slander  and  calumniation  of  the  said  Earl  of  Both  well, 
as  participant,  Art  or  Part,  of  the  said  heinous  murder, 
whereof  ordinary  Justice  has  acquitted  him,  and  for  which  he 
has  oflered  to  do  his  Devoir  by  the  Law  of  Arms  m  manner 
above  rehearsed ;  we,  and  every  one  of  us,  by  ourselves,  our 
kin,  friends,  assisters,  partakers,  and  all  that  will  do  for  us, 
shall  take  true,  honest,  plain,  and  upright  Part  with  him,  to 
the  Defence  and  Maintenance  of  his  Quarrell,  Avith  our 
bodies,  heritage,  and  goods,  against  his  private  or  public 
calumniators,  byepast  or  to  come,  or  any  others  presuming 
anything  in  Word  or  Deed  to  his  Reproach,  Dishonour,  or 


NOTES.  233 

Infamy.    Moreover,  weighing  and  considering  the  time  pres- 
ent, and  how  our  Sovereign  the  Queen's  Majesty  is  now  desti- 
tute of  a  Husband,  in  the  which  solitary  state  the  Commonweal 
of  this  Realme  may  not  permit  her  Highness  to  continue  and 
endure,  but  at  some  time  her  Highness  in  appearance  may  be 
inclined  to  yield  into  a  Marriage  ;  and  therefore,  in  case  the 
former  affectionate  and  hearty  service  of  the  said  Earl  done 
to  her  Majesty  from  time  to  time,  and   his  other  good  Quali- 
ties and  Behaviour,  may  move  her  Majesty  so  far  to  humble 
herself,  as,  preferring  one  of  her  native  born  subjects  unto 
all  foreign  Princes,  to  take  to  Husband  the  said  Earl,  We  and 
every  one  of  us  undersubscribing,   upon  our  Honours   and 
Fidelity,  oblige  us  and  promise,  not  only  to  further,  advance, 
and  set  forward  the  Marriage  to  be  solemnised  and  completed 
betwixt  her  Highness  and  the  said  Noble  Lord,  with   our 
Votes,  Counsel,  Fortification,  and  Assistance  in  Word  and 
Deed,  at  such  time  as  it  shall  please  her  Majesty  to  think  it 
convenient,  and  how  soon  the  Laws  shall  leave  it  to  be  done  ; 
but  in  case  any  should  presume  directly  or  indirectly,  openly, 
or  under  whatsoever  Colour  or  Pretence,  to  hinder,  hold  back, 
or  disturb  the  said  Marriage,  we  shall,  in  that  behalf,  esteem, 
hold,  and  repute  the  Hinderers,  Adversaries,  or  Disturbers 
thereof,  as  our  common  Enemies  and  evil  Willers  ;  and  not- 
withstanding the  same,  take  part  and  fortify  the  said  Earl  to 
the  said  Marriage,  so  far  as  it  may  please  our  Sovereign  Lady 
to  allow ;  and  therein  shall  spend  and  bestow  our  Lives  and 
Goods  against  all  that  live  or  die  may,  as  Ave  shall  answer  to 
God,  and  upon  our  own  Fidelities  and  Conscience ;  and  in 
case  we  do  to  the  contrary,  never  to  have    Reputation  or 
Credit  in  no  Time  hereafter,  but  to  be  accounted  unworthy 
and  faithless  Traitors.     In  Witness  whereof,   we  have  sub- 
scribed these  presents,  as  follows,  at  Edinburgh,  the  19th  day 
of  April,  the  year  of  God  1567  years." 
15 


234  BOTHWELL. 

Such  was  the  tenor  and  substance  of  that  celebrated 
"Band,"  the  origin  and  object  of  which  has  given  rise  to  so 
much  discussion.  But  the  historian  or  annotator  who  attempts 
the  investigation  of  any  point  in  this  distracted  period  of 
Scottish  annals,  must  exercise  the  utmost  caution  before 
adopting  as  genuine  any  kind  of  documentary  evidence,  so 
artfully  have  many  papers  been  altered  or  j>ervcrted  to  suit 
the  views  or  to  maintain  the  credit  of  the  chief  actors  in 
political  intrigue.  In  this  instance  there  seems  no  ground  for 
supposing  that  material  alteration  has  been  fnade  in  the  body 
of  the  Band  by  copyists  or  transcribers.  The  points  in 
dispute,  however,  are  very  important,  as  they  involve  the 
circumstances  under  which  the  Band  was  granted,  and  the 
status,  character,  and  even  individuality  of  the  subscribers. 
The  story  commonly  received  —  but  which  I  entirely  dis- 
credit, for  reasons  which  T  shall  immediately  state — is  as 
follows  :  The  Band  in  question  is  said  to  have  been  subscribed 
after  a  supper  to  which  Botliwell  had  invited  the  whole  of  the 
nobility  in  Edinburgh,  on  the  occasion  of  the  dismissal  of 
Parliament.  According  to  this  version,  the  entertainment  was 
given  at  a  tavern  kept  by  a  person  of  the  name  of  Ansloy  or 
Ainslie  ;  and  Mr.  Tytler,  who  seems  in  this  instance  to  have 
departed  from  his  usual  accurate  habit  of  investigation,  gives 
us  the  following  narrative  :  "  On  the  evening  of  the  day  on 
which  the  Parliament  rose  (April  19th),  Bothwell  invited  the 
principal  nobility  to  supper  in  a  tavern  kept  by  a  person 
named  Ansley.  They  sat  drinking  till  a  late  hour  ;  and  dur- 
ing the  entertainmeut  a  band  of  two  hundred  hagbutters  sur- 
rounded the  house  and  overawed  its  innuxtes.  The  Earl  then 
rose,  and  proposed  his  marriage  with  tlie  Queen,  affirming 
that  he  had  gained  her  consent,  and  even  (it  is  said)  pro- 
ducing her  written  warrant  empowering  him  to  propose  the 
matter  to  her  nobility.     Of  the  guests  some  were  his  sworn 


?^OTES.  235 

friends,  others  were  terrified  and  irresolute  ;  and  in  the  con- 
fusion one  nobleman,  the  Earl  of  Eglinton,  contrived  to 
make  his  escape  ;  but  the  rest,  both  Papist  and  Protestant, 
were  overawed  into  compliance,  and  affixed  their  signatures 
to  a  bond."  The  foundation  of  the  story  is  to  be  found  in  a 
letter  to  Queen  Elizabeth  from  her  Commissioners  at  York, 
dated  11th  October  1508,  and  printed  both  by  Anderson  and 
Goodall.  It  contains  the  account  of  the  transaction,  or 
rather  the  explanation  of  the  signatures,  as  given  on  the  part 
of  Murray  and  his  colleagues,  some  of  whom  were  parties  to 
the  bond.  "  It  appeared  also,"  say  the  Commissioners, 
"  that  the  self-same  day  of  the  date  of  this  Band,  being  the 
19th  of  April,  the  Earl  of  Huntley  was  restored  by  Parlia- 
ment, which  Parliament  was  the  occasion  that  so  many  Lords 
were  there  assembled,  which,  being  all  invited  to  a  supper 
by  B  ithwell,  were  induced  after  supper,  more  fur  fear  than 
otherwise,  to  subscribe  to  the  said  Band  ;  two  hundred  harke- 
busiers  being  in  the  Court  and  aliout  the  Chamber  door 
where  they  supped,  which  were  all  at  Bothwell's  devotion." 
Ainslie,  "  mine  host,"  owes  his  immortality  to  a  document,  a 
copy  of  which  is  in  the  Cottonian  Library  under  this  head- 
ing, "  The  names  of  such  of  the  nobility  as  subscribed  the 
Band,  so  far  as  John  Read  might  remember,  of  whom  I  had  this 
copy,  being  in  his  own  hand,  being  commonly  termed  in  Scot- 
land Aynsleis  Svpper."     The  list  is  as  follows  :  — 

"  Eari.s  Murray,  Argyle,  Huntley,  Cassilis,  Morton,  Suth- 
erland, Rothes,  Glencairn,  Caithness. 

"  Lords  Boyd,  Seton,  Sinclair,  Semple,  Oliphant,  Ogilvy, 
Ross  of  Hawkhead,  Carlyle,  Herries,  Hume,  Innermeith. 

"  Eglinton  subscribed  not,  but  slipped  away." 

But  the  memory  of  "  John  Read,"  whom  I  strongly  suspect 
to  have  been  an  amanuensis  of  George  Buchanan,  cannot 
have  been  of  the  most  reliable  kind,  inasmuch  as  Murray 


236  BOTHWELL. 

could  by  no  possibility  have  signed  the  Band,  for  this  simple 
reason,  that  he  -was  not  in  Scotland  at  the  time.  This  au- 
thority, such  as  it  is,  has  imposed  not  only  on  Mr.  Tytler,  but 
on  Miss  Strickland,  who,  in  her  recent  elaborate  and  most 
valuable  Life  of  Queen  Mary,  repeats  the  story  ad  Ionium, 
and,  in  her  surprise  at  finding  the  names  of  Seton  and  Her- 
ries  appended  to  the  Band,  hazards  the  conjecture,  "  that  they 
must  have  drunk  to  excess,  and  signed  it  when  under  the 
temporary  delirium  of  intoxication  !  " 

In  Schiller's  grand  political  drama  of  Wallcnstein,  the  Im- 
perialist generals  are  represented  as  signing,  after  supper,  a 
fabricated  bond,  differing  materially  in  substance  from  that 
which  had  been  exhibited  before  the  comniencement  of  the 
convivialities.  But  at  Ainslie's  tavern  the  transaction  is  wholly 
of  another  character.  Eight  Earls  and  eleven  Barons,  of  all 
shades  of  political  and  religious  opinion,  are  said  to  have 
been  invited  by  Bothwell  to  supper  —  not  in  some  remote 
chateau,  with  its  dungeon  and  oubliette,  bat  in  a  public  inn, 
in  the  heart  of  populous  Edinburgh,  "VVe  are  then  asked  to 
believe  that  a  couple  of  hundred  armed  desperadoes  beset  the 
courtyard  and  the  stairs  —  that  Bothwell  drew  from  his 
pocket  the  document  ready  prepared  —  and  that  the  nineteen 
noble  poltroons  signed  it  without  remonstrance  or  hesita- 
tion! 

"  Credat  Judaeus  Apella, 
Non  ego ' ' 

What,  it  may  be  inquired,  had  the  nobles  to  fear  if  they 
refused  compliance?  Not  massacre,  surely,  for  that  would 
have  effectually  extinguislied  all  the  hopes  and  prospects  of 
Bothwell ;  not  abduction,  for  that  would  have  been  impos- 
sible, considering  the  locality.  There  is  no  difficulty  in 
accounting  for  the  signature  of  some  of  the  Peers,  who  were 


NOTES.  237 

conspirators,  and  therefore  ready  enough  to  sign  without 
compulsion  ;  but  there  were  others,  such  as  Glencairn,  Seton, 
and  Oliphant,  little  likely,  under  any  circumstances,  to  have 
submitted  to  such  insolent  dictation.  But  even  granting  that 
they  had  been  constrained,  it  is  a  very  singular  and  significant 
fact,  that  none  of  them  deemed  it  necessary  at  an  after  period 
to  oflFer  an  explanation,  in  order  to  clear  their  characters 
from  so  very  serious  a  stain.  A  skilful  artisan  of  romance 
would  hardly  have  dared,  in  defiance  of  all  probability,  to 
depict  such  a  scene  in  his  pages.  Grave  historians,  however, 
have  not  hesitated  to  stand  sponsors  for  the  story. 

That  Bothwell  may  have  etitertained  his  friends  at  supper 
in  Ainslie's  tavern,  on  the  occasion  of  the  dismissal  of  Par- 
liament, is  quite  possible — but  that  the  signatures  were  then 
extorted  and  given,  appears  to  me,  from  intrinsic  and  extrin- 
sic evidence,  as  preposterous  a  fiction  as  ever  was  devised. 
Bishop  Keith  states  that  there  is,  or  was  in  his  time,  in  the 
Scottish  College  at  Paris,  another  copy  of  this  Band,  "  at- 
tested by  the  proper  subscription  of  Sir  James  Balfour  of 
Pittendrich,  the  Clerk  of  Register  and  Privy-Council  at  the 
time  the  Band  was  formed,  who  had  the  original  in  his  keep- 
ing." That  copy  bears  date  the  2flth,  not  the  19th  April,  and 
the  following  are  the  parties  subscribing  :  —  The  Archbishop 
of  St.  Andrews;  the  Bishops  of  Aberdeen,  Galloway,  Dun- 
blane, Brechin,  Ross,  the  Isles,  and  Orkney  ;  the  Earls  of 
Huntley,  Argyle,  Morton,  Cassilis,  Sutherland,  Errol,  Craw- 
ford, Caithness,  and  Rothes;  the  Lords  Boyd,  Glammis, 
Ruthven,  Semple,  Herries,  Ogilvy,  and  Fleming.  This  is  a 
very  different  list  from  that  which  '•  John  Read"  sets  down 
from  memory.  Its  accuracy  may,  like  that  of  the  other,  be 
impugned,  but  it  does  not  shock  credibility.  Boyd  was  a 
wavei'er,  who,  after  the  Queen's  marriage,  joined  the  confed- 
eracy against  her,   but  afterwards  came  over  to  her  side. 


238  BOTHAVELL. 

Herrics,  according  to  Mr.  Tytler,  was  not  to  be  trusted  when 
his  own  interests  came  in  the  way.  And  it  is  certain  that 
not  one  of  the  nobles  on  that  list  rejiaired  to  the  standard  of 
Queen  Mary  previous  to  the  affair  at  Carberry  Hill,  hoth- 
■well,  in  his  memorial  to  the  King  of  Doniuark,  penned  after 
he  was  a  fugitive,  states  that,  on  his  acquittal,  twonty-eight 
members  of  Parliament  came  to  him  at  his  own  house  without 
solicitation,  offering  him  their  support  towards  the  further- 
ance of  his  marriage  with  the  Queen,  and  that  of  these,  eight 
were  bishojis.  I  admit  that  Bothwell's  own  statements  are 
entitled  to  very  little  respect,  but  his  averment  as  to  the  con- 
currence of  the  lushops  is  worthy  of  notice.  It  is  not  difficult 
to  understand  the  reason  why,  in  the  communications  made 
to  Elizabeth's  commissioners,  all  mention  of  the  bishops' 
signatures  was  suppressed  ;  for  Buchanan,  though  endowed 
with  preternatural  impudence,  could  scarcely  have  hoped  to 
persuade  the  Duke  of  Norfolk  that  Both  well  had  decoyed 
eight  prelates  into  a  tavern,  and  there,  under  the  influence  of 
drink  and  terror,  compelled  them  to  set  their  names  to  a 
bond,  recognizing  him  as  a  proper  match  for  their  sovereign  ! 
In  the  introductory  letter  to  the  Memoirs  of  Sir  James  Mel- 
ville, addressed  to  his  son,  there  occurs  this  significant  passage, 
which  I  have  never  seen  quoted,  but  which  appears  to  me 
very  decisive  against  the  authenticity  of  the  Ainslie  Legend  : 
•'  Had  I  not  more  regarded  my  Princess,  her  interest  than 
mine  own,  I  sliould  have  accepted  the  large  offers  made  to  me 
by  the  Earl  of  Bothwell,  xvhcn  he  dcsircr/  me  to  subscribe,  with 
the  rest  of  his  flatterers,  that  paper  loherem  they  declared  it 
was  her  Majesty'' s  interest  to  marry  the  said  Earl;  but  I  chose 
rather  to  lay  myself  open  to  his  hatred  and  revenge,  whereby 
I  was  afterward  in  peril  of  my  life."  This  evidently  points 
to  a  deliberate  and  studied  attempt,  not  to  a  drunken  sur- 
prise.   Bothwell  was  a  daring  and  unscrupulous  villain  — not 


NOTES.  239 

a  wise  man,  yet  certainly  not  an  idiot ;  and  he  never  would 
have  resorted  to  a  device,  which,  so  far  from  promoting  his 
object,  must  have  led  to  his  immediaie  detection. 

My  conclusion  therefore  is,  that  the  terms  of  the  Band 
were  arranged  between  Bothwell  and  the  lords  of  the  faction 
of  Murray  and  Morton,  with  whom  he  was  then  acting  in 
apparent  concert.  It  was  part  of  their  regular  scheme ;  for 
Bothwell  would  not  have  been  seduced  from  liis  allegiance 
without  very  distinct  promises  made  by  his  tempters  Their 
object  in  signing  the  Band  was  to  fortify  Bothwell  in  his  pre- 
tensions to  the  hand  of  the  Queen,  they  being  aware  that 
such  a  marriage  would  be  the  signal  for  insurrection,  and 
inevitably  lead  to  her  deposition:  That  marriage  was  the 
bribe,  l>y  means  of  which  they  induced  Bothwell  to  become 
the  principal  actor  in  the  murder  of  Darnley,  and  it  was  also 
their  interest  to  keep  faith  with  him,  until  he  was  installed 
as  Uarnley"s  successor ;  after  that  he  was  to  be  hunted  down. 
It  seems  established,  moreover,  that  this  Band  was  signed  by 
a  considerable  number  of  the  nobility  who  did  not  belong  to 
the  faction,  but  who  may  have  given  their  names  partly 
from  example  and  partly  from  interest.  I  very  much  fear, 
however,  that  no  one  who  subscribed  the  deed,  had  any  faith 
in  Buthwell's  innocence.  Darnley  had  made  himself  so 
obnoxious  to  the  whole  nobility,  that  his  removal  was 
regarded  in  the  light  of  a  state  necessity  ;  and  in  those  days, 
men  were  not  over-scrupulous  or  inquisitive  as  to  the  means 
which  were  employed  for  an  end  which  they  approved.  Some 
who  knew  Bothwell's  violent  temper,  may  have  had  no 
better  reason  for  signing  than  a  vague  dread  of  his  resentment, 
but  I  think  there  is  no  ground  for  supposing  that  in  any  case 
there  was  an  extortion  of  signatures. 

I  may  here  remark,  that  lists,  such  as  that  drawn  up  from 
the  recollection  of  "  John  Read,"  ought  not  to  be  relied  on 


240  BOTHWELL. 

as  authentic  historical  documents.  Mr.  Tytler  has  been 
blamed,  and  I  think  deservedly,  for  preferring  a  charge 
against  Knox  of  complicity  in  the  mui'der  of  Riccio,  founded 
upon  a  document  in  the  State-paper  Office.  It  is  highly 
probable,  as  Dr.  M'Crie  allows,  that  Knox  regarded  that 
event  with  satisfaction;  and  his  disappearance  from  Scotland 
immediately  after  the  assassination,  coupled  with  tlie  fact 
that  he  did  not  return  to  Edinburgh  until  Mary  was  impris- 
oned and  her  enemies  triumphant,  has  naturally  enough 
engendered  suspicion.  Grave  doul)ts  may  be  entertained  as 
to  his  innocence  ;  but  I  am  bound  to  say  that,  in  a  question 
of  this  kind,  no  weight  ought  to  be  given  to  a  paper  which  is 
unsigned,  and  not  satisfactorily  authenticated.  I  am  clearly 
of  opinion  that  the  list  referred  to  by  Mr.  'J'ytlor  cannot  be 
accepted  as  reliable  evidence  that  Knox  was  one  of  the  actual 
conspirators.  In  that  list,  "  John  Craig,  preacher,"  is  set 
down  as  having  consented,  along  with  Knox,  to  the  death  of 
Riccio  ;  and  the  evidence  which  would  condemn  the  one,  must 
be  held  to  apply  to  the  other.  Yet  no  writer  has  ventured  to 
maintain  that  Craig  had  any  previous  knowledge  of  the 
murder.  lie  was  the  colleague  of  Knox  in  the  ministerial 
charge  of  Edinburgh,  but  did  not  quit  his  post  when  those 
who  were  notoriously  concerned  in  the  assassination  of  Riccio 
were  compelled  to  seek  safety  in  flight ;  and  his  subsequent 
demeanor  and  bearing,  as  well  as  his  high  and  really  admira- 
ble character,  seem  to  me  utterly  inconsist(>nt  with  the  idea 
that  he  was  privy  to  that  act  of  violence  and  blood.  Indeed, 
I  liave  a  strong  conviction  that  there  was  less  real  confidence 
than  is  generally  su])po8ed  to  have  existed  between  the 
nobles  who  professed  the  cause  of  the  Reformation  and  the 
preachers  ;  and  that  the  latter  were  seldom  consulted  with 
regard  to  political  movements,  however  their  influence  with 
the  ix'oplc  may  have  been  used  to  forward  them. 


241 


"  Your  own  braise  father  woo^d  a  Queen  — 
This  Mary's  mother.'"  —  P.  111. 

PATRICK    EARL    BOTUWELL,    AND    MARY    OF   GUISE. 

There  is  a  remarkable  coincidence  in  the  leading  points  of 
the  personal  history  of  the  two  Bothwells,  father  and  son. 
Both  of  them  paid  their  addresses  to  Scottish  Queens  ;  both 
divorced  their  wives  with  a  view  to  the  more  ambitious 
marriage  ;  both  received  crown-grants  of  Orkney  ;  and  both 
died  in  exile.  During  the  lifetime  of  James  V.,  Earl  Patrick 
was  suspected  of  treasonable  practices  with  England,  and  in 
1531  w^as  imprisoned  in  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  and  after- 
wards, according  to  Pitscottie,  banished  from  the  kingdom. 
He  returned,  however,  after  the  death  of  James,  and  paid 
court  to  the  Queen-Dowager,  his  rival  being  the  Earl  of 
Lennox.  But  his  suit  did  not  prosper,  notwithstanding 
the  apparent  encouragement  which  he  received  from  Mary 
of  Guise,  a  woman  of  great  talent,  who  possessed  in  an 
uncommon  degree  the  power  of  fascinating  all  who  ap- 
proached her.  I  am  enabled,  through  the  kindness  of  my 
friend  Mr.  Joseph  Robertson,  of  the  General  Register  House, 
Edinburgh,  to  make  public  a  curious  document,  prepared  by 
Earl  Patrick  for  the  consideration  of  the  King  of  France,  in 
which  he  asserts  that  the  Queen-Dowager  had  twice  promised 
him  marriage. 

'•  Turn  ar  the  articlis  that  Patrik  Erie  Boithuile,  greit 
admirall  of  Scotland,  promissis  to  bid  at  and  debait  with 
his  body  ;  That  is  to  say,  ane  hundreth  men  for  ane  hun- 
dreth  men,  or  man  for  man,  as  the  King  of  Frances  Maieste 
will  pleis  command  him  thairto. 

"  In  primis,  that  the  Qucnis  Grace,  his  auld  maistress,  for 
his  continewale  seruice  done  for  the  tymo,  and  for  eschewing 
of  sic  inconvenient  cummeris  that  apperit  to  fall  vpoun  hir, 


242  BOTHWELL. 

Proracst  faithfiiUie  be  hir  hand  writ  at  twa  sindre  tjaues  to 
tak  the  said  Erie  in  mariage ;  Hir  taiking  dcliuerit  to  him 
thairupoune,  and  d.iy  assignit  thairto,  as  hir  writtingis  obli- 
gatoiiris  vndcr  hir  hand  writ  m:ur  fiiUelie  proportis. 

"  Secnndlie,  scho  gaif  to  the  said  Erie  the  erledome  of  Fiff 
during  her  lifetj'nie,  for  seruice  done  and  to  be  done,  As  hir 
euidentis  maid  to  him  thairof  proportis. 

"  Thirdlie.  scho  gaif  to  the  said  Erie  fre  the  lordschip  of 
Galloway,  elike  maner  induring  hir  lifetyme. 

"  Fferdlie,  scho  gaif  to  the  said  Erie  the  erledome  of  Orknay 
during  hir  lifetyme  for  payment,  Reservand  ane  thousand 
merk  thairof  at  the  said  Erles  dispositioune  in  feis  quliair  he 
plesit. 

"Alswa,  scho  is  awand  to  the  said  Erie  foure  thowsand 
crovnis,  And  gaif  in  command  to  the  Ambassatour  passand 
for  the  tyme  to  France  to  answer  Maister  Michell  Balfour, 
seruitour  to  the  said  Erie,  twa  thowsand  crovnis,  and  incon- 
tinent thaireftir  send  tlie  post  with  ane  discharge. 

"  The  said  Erie  desyris  thir  articlis  to  be  representit  vnto 
the  King  of  Frances  Maieste  ;  And  for  vereficatiuune  hereof. 
And  clering  of  all  promissis  allegit  maid  be  him  to  Ingland 
afore  the  dtiy  of  the  dait  hereof,  Olferis  him  to  cum  to  France 
or  Scotland,  quhair  it  pleissis  the  Kiugis  Maieste  of  France 
to  appunct,  To  debait  the  samin  with  his  body  aganis  all 
thaim  will  say  in  the  contrair.  That  ho  nevir  did  afore  the 
said  day  that  micht  be  prejudicial!  to  tlie  roalme  of  Scot- 
land. In  witnes  hereof,  and  for  vereficatioune  of  the  premissis, 
he  has  suhsoriuit  thir  presentis  with  his  hand.  At  Armetago 
the  first  day  of  Aprile,  the  yere  of  God  ane  thowsand 
five  hundreth  fourtynyne  yeris. 

"  Ekle  lioTllUlLE, 

Amirall." 


243 


As  this  document  is  preserved  in  the  Register  House  of 
Edinburgh,  we  may  presume  that  it  never  was  forwarded  to 
France.  Very  shortly  afterwards,  Earl  Patrick  formally  re- 
nounced his  allegiance,  and  became  a  pensioner  of  England, 
as  appears  in  an  instrument  of  King  Edward  VI.,  dated  at 
Westminster,  3d  September  1549.  "  Whereas  Patrick,  Earl 
of  Botbwell,  has  acknowledged  his  duty  to  us.  his  natural 
sovereign  lord  and  King,  superior  lord  of  the  realm  of 
Scotland,  we  have  taken  him,  his  castles,  towers,  lands,  tene- 
ments, rents,  goods,  and  cattals,  men-servants,  and  retainers 
into  our  protection  and  defence  ;  and  we  grant  to  him  an 
annuity  of  yearly  rent  of  3000  crowns,  and  the  wages  of  100 
horsemen,  to  serve  under  him  for  the  defence  of  his  person 
and  the  annoying  of  the  enemy  ;  and  if  it  shall  fortune  him, 
by  means  of  our  service,  to  lose  his  lands  and  possessions  in 
Scotland  above  the  space  of  three  years,  we  promise  to  give 
and  grant  to  him  and  his  heirs  for  ever  lands  and  tenements 
to  the  yearly  rent  and  value  of  all  such  lands,  &c.,  as  from 
this  day  forward  he  shall  lose  by  reason  of  his  service."  We 
find  him,  however,  again  in  Scotland,  and  in  attendance  on 
the  Queen-Dowager  in  1554.  He  appears  to  have  died  in 
1556,  when  he  was  succeeded  by  his  son  James. 

I  have  noted  these  particulars,  because  even  by  old  writers, 
such  as  Buchanan  and  Merries,  the  two  Bothwells  have  been 
confounded  ;  so  much  so,  that  a  dissertation  was  written  by 
Patrick  Lord  Elibank,  to  prove  that  the  rival  of  Lennox  in 
the  favor  of  Mary  of  Guise,  and  the  husband  of  her  daugh- 
ter Mary,  Queen  of  Scots,  was  one  and  the  same  person. 
Hence  have  arisen  the  extraordinary  discrepancies  of  state- 
ment regarding  the  age  of  James  Earl  of  Both  well,  which 
have  puzzled  so  many  readers  of  history.  Both  well  was 
certainly  little  more  than  twenty  years  of  age  when  his 
father  died  ;  consequently  he  must  have  been  about  twenty- 


244  BOTHWELL. 

six  when  he  first  paid  his  duty  to  the  Queen  at  Joinville  in 
1501,  and  about  thirty-two  when  he  carried  her  off  to 
Dunbar. 

Strange  to  say,  it  appears  that  another  of  the  house  of 
Hepburn,  Adam,  Waster  of  Hales,  father  of  the  first  Earl  of 
Butliwell,  had  an  intrigue  with  another  Quocn-Dowager  of 
Scotland,  Mary  of  Guoldres,  widow  of  James  II.  The 
authorities  upon  which  this  statement  has  been  made,  will  be 
found  in  the  first  volume  of  Piiikcrton's  History  of  Scotland. 


"  Of  evil  omen  is  the  day 

That  brin<js  Kirkaldy  to  the  fray.''"  — P.  113. 

SIR    AVILLIAM    KIRKALDY    OF    GRANGE. 

Those  who  desire  to  know  the  particulars  of  the  career  of 
this  reimirkahlc  soldier,  wliose  name  is  so  conspicuous  in 
Scottish  annals,  may  consult  Mr.  James  Grant's  Manoirs 
and  Adcenlurcs  of  Kirkaldy  of  Grange,  an  animated  biog- 
raphy wliich  will  amply  repay  perusal.  Unfortunately  for 
the  cause  of  Queen  Mary,  lie  was  too  long  duped  by  her 
betrayers ;  but  no  sooner  were  his  eyes  opened  to  the  real 
nature  of  the  infamous  conspiracy,  than  he  took  her  part ; 
maintained  it  with  that  energy  and  valor  which  had  Avon  him 
an  European  fame ;  and  after  a  desperate  struggle,  in  which 
he  proljalily  would  have  been  victorious  had  not  the  armed 
power  of  England  been  put  forth,  was  sent  to  the  scaffold, 
the  last  an.l  greatest  of  the  adherents  of  that  unfortunate 
Queen.  I  shall  content  myself  by  transcril)ing  tiie  following 
paasage  from  the  Memoirs  of  Sir  James  Melville  :  — 


NOTES.  245 

"  On  this  manner  both  England  and  the  Ecgont  were 
revenged  upon  that  worthy  cliampion  Grange,  whom  they 
had  some  time  in  great  estimation,  who  hud  done  such 
notable  service  in  France,  being  captain  of  an  hundred  light 
horsemen,  that  he  was  extolled  by  the  Duke  of  Yendome, 
Prince  of  Conde,  and  Duke  Aumale,  governors  and  colonels 
then  in  Picardy  ;  that  I  heard  Henry  II.  point  unto  him  and 
say,  'Yonder  is  one  of  the  most  valiant  men  of  our  age.' 
Also  the  King  used  him  so  familiarly  that  he  chose  him  com- 
monly upon  his  side  in  all  pastimes  he  went  to  ;  and  because 
he  shott  far  with  a  great  shaft  at  the  buts,  the  King  would 
have  him  to  shoot  two  arrows,  one  for  his  pleasure.  The 
great  Constable  of  France  would  never  speak  to  him  uncov- 
ered, and  the  King  gave  him  an  honorable  pension,  whereof 
he  never  sought  payment.  England  had  proof  of  his  valor 
frequently  against  them  upon  the  Borders,  where  he  gave 
them  divers  ruffles.  In  single  combat  he  vanquished  the  Earl 
of  Rivers'  brother  between  the  two  armies  of  Scotland  and 
England.  He  afterwards  debated  manfully  the  liberty  of  his 
country  against  the  Frenchmen,  when  they  intended  to  erect 
the  land  into  a  province.  He  had  lately  refused  the  demands 
of  Mr.  Randolph  and  Mr.  Killigrew,  as  is  before  mentioned, 
and  had  reproached  both  the  said  ambassadors  of  false  and 
deceitful  dealing.  Last  of  all,  he  had  refused  to  put  the 
castle  into  the  hands  of  Englishmen,  and  therefore,  because  he 
was  true  to  his  Prince  and  country,  it  cost  him  his  life.  For 
they  boasted  plainly  to  bring  down  that  giant's  pride,  who, 
as  they  alleged,  presumed  to  be  another  Wallace ;  albeit 
contrariwise  he  was  humble,  gentle,  and  meek,  like  a  lamb 
in  the  house,  but  like  a  lion  in  the  fields.  He  was  a  lusty, 
strong,  and  well-proportioned  personage,  hardy,  and  of  a 
magnanimous  courage  ;  secret  and  prudent  in  all  his  enter- 
prises, so  that  never  one  that  he  made  or  devised  misgave 


246  BOTHWKLL. 

where  he  was  present  himself.  When  he  was  victorious,  he 
was  very  merciful,  and  naturally  liberal ;  an  eneu)y  to  greedi- 
ness and  ambition,  and  a  friend  to  all  men  in  adversity." 


"  How  many  churches,  wrapped  in  fames. 

Have  witnessed  to  the  spoilers''  power.'^ — P.  133. 

DEIIOHTION    OF   CULUCUES    BY   THE   UEFORMEUS. 

"  Now  arises  tumults  upon  tumults,  killing  of  priests,  sack- 
ing and  pulling  down  of  Churches,  ruining  of  statlie  Abbacies, 
and  other  glorious  buildings,  dissolving  hospitals  ;  all  in  con- 
fusion. In  a  word,  these  ancient  buildings  and  brave  fabrics, 
monuments  of  antiquity  and  marks  of  piety,  which  for  many 
hundred  years  have  been  a-building,  shall  in  few  months  be 
destroyed  and  razed  to  the  ground  !  The  ornaments  and 
riches  of  the  Churches  fell  to  the  share  of  the  common  rabble ; 
the  estates  and  lands  were  divided  amongst  the  great  men, 
by  themselves,  Avithout  right  or  law  ;  which  they  resolve  to 
maintain  l)y  the  sword  ! 

"  The  first  storm  fell  upon  Saint  Johnstoun,  in  this  same 
month  of  May.  John  Knox  (of  whom  we  spoke  before,  who 
had  been  minister  to  these  rebels  in  the  castle  of  St.  Andrews) 
was  the  occasion  ;  who,  by  a  seditious  sermon,  stirred  up  the 
people  to  fury  and  madness  ;  who  encouraged  them  to  pull 
down  the  Churches ;  for  in  his  sermon  he  bid  them  '  Pull 
down  the  nests  that  the  crows  might  not  build  again  !  ' 
Whereupon  they  run  out  in  confusion,  killed  the  priests, 
broke  down  altars,  and  destroyed  all  the  images  and  orna- 
ments.    From  that  they  fell  upon  the  Religious  Houses  and 


NOTES.  247 

Monasteries  ;  those  two  goodly  Abbacies  of  Franciscans  and 
Dominicans,  with  their  Churches,  were  pulled  down  and 
made  level  with  the  ground  in  two  days,  and  all  their  riches 
made  a  prey  to  the  people  !  But  the  Abbay  of  Charters 
Monks  stood  longer  by  one  day.  The  next  storm  fell  upon 
Couper.  Those  people,  upon  notice  of  this  business  at  Perth, 
fell  likeways  upon  their  Churches  :  which  they  spoiled  and 
ransackt,  and  chased  away  the  priests." 

"  When  the  news  was  known  that  Lord  James  and  the 
Earl  of  Argyle  had  deserted  the  Queen-Regent,  and  joined 
themselves  to  the  Congregation,  the  people  were  bo  much 
encouradged  that  they  flockt  in  multitudes.  Then  a  declara- 
tion was  put  out,  by  which  it  was  declared.  That  the  cause 
of  their  rising  in  arms  was  for  defence  of  the  cause  of  God, 
their  religion,  and  liberty,  and  lives,  that  were  all  in  eminent 
danger  by  the  false  dealing  of  the  Queen-Regent,  whom 
neither  Bands,  religion,  nor  solemn  oaths  could  bind  :  That 
she  was  a  breaker  of  truth  and  faith  :  That  she  was  a  stranger 
who  had  no  respect  to  the  well  of  Scotland.  These  words 
being  dcchired  to  the  people  by  John  Knox,  they  grew  so  exas- 
peratt  that  they  were  ready  to  attempt  anything.  They  run 
in  confusion  to  the  town  of  Crail,  and  fell  upon  the  Church, 
which  they  ransackt  and  spoiled.  From  thence  to  St.  An- 
droes,  and  there  they  spoiled  all ;  and  not  content  with 
the  spoil  of  the  whole  Churches  and  Monasteries,  they  pulled 
down  the  very  walls  of  the  Grey  and  Black  Friers'  Monas- 
teries, goodlie  things,  and  of  great  antiquity  ;  and  chased 
the  Archbishop  himself  out  of  the  toune." 

"  This  being  refused,  the  congregation  marches  directly  to 
Perth,  and  besieges  the  town,  which  was  rendered  within  few 
days.  Then  the  Laird  of  Kinfauns  (whom  the  Queen-Regent 
had  made  Provost)  was  displaced,  and  the  Lord  Ruthven  was 
again  admitted.   Then  they  send  a  strong  party  over  to  Scone, 


248  BOTHWELL. 

•who  ranpickt  and  defaced  the  Churches,  broke  down  the 
altars  and  images,  and  destroyed  the  whole  ornaments  and 
ancient  monuments,  and  so  retired.  Upon  the  other  hand, 
Lord  James  and  the  Earl  of  Argyle  marched  to  Stirling,  and 
served  the  Churches  there  with  the  like  fare  ;  and  razes  the 
Monasterie  of  Black  Friers  to  the  ground.  The  next  day 
they  remove  to  Edinburgh,  and  in  their  way,  they  visit  the 
Churches  of  Lithgow,  which  they  altogether  sjwiled  and 
ruined.  They  were  willingly  received  in  Edinburgh  by  the 
^Magistrates,  where  they  were  no  sooner  entered,  but  they 
fell  upon  the  Churches,  which  they  ransackt  and  ruined  with 
admirable  speed.  They  begun  at  the  great  Church  of  St. 
(jiiles,  and  from  it  to  the  Colledge  Kirk,  both  which  they 
spoiled  of  all  their  ornaments.  From  thence  to  the  Black 
Friers  Monasterie,  which  they  overturned  to  the  foundation. 
They  likeways  pulled  down  the  ^lonasterie  and  Church  of 
Grey  Friers,  and  our  Lady  Kirk  in  the  Fields  (called  Maria 
de  Campis),  and  made  them  level  with  the  ground.  Thus, 
having  defaced  all  the  Churches  in  Edinburgh,  and  pulled 
down  tliose  they  pleased,  they  planted  Reformed  jireachers  in 
those  they  had  reserved,  and  disposed  of  the  government  of 
the  town  as  they  thought  lit.  Then  they  seized  upon  the 
Queen's  piilace  of  Ilolyi'oodhouse,  with  all  the  rich  furniture, 
which  they  possessed  and  kept  for  their  own  use."  —  Lord 
Herries'  Historic  of  the  Iici(jn  of  Marie  Queen  of  Scots. 

These  atrocities,  for  such  undoubtedly  they  were  (though 
even  at  the  present  day  they  have  found  apologists  and  defen- 
ders, who,  in  common  consistency,  are  bound  to  vindicate  the 
proceedings  of  Lord  George  Gordon  and  his  fanatical  mob), 
took  place  during  the  Regency  of  Mary  of  Guise.  But  the 
disposition  to  attack  and  deface  religious  edifices  was  not 
extinguished.  In  making  Bothwell  deceive  the  Queen  by  an 
account  of  an  imaginary  tumult  in  Edinburgh  and  an  attack 


]VOTES.  249 

upon  Holyrood  Chapel,  I  have  aot  outraged  probability. 
Within  a  fortnight  from  the  day  when  Queen  ISIary  landed 
in  her  kingdom,  she  received  practical  proof  of  the  tolerant 
spirit  of  her  subjects,  wlio,  demanding  freedom  of  worship 
for  themselves,  fell  into  the  usual  mistake  of  confounding 
freedom  with  monopoly.  Before  Mary  left  France  she  had 
expressly  stipulated  that  she  was  to  be  allowed  the  privilege 
of  worshipping  God  according  to  the  rites  of  the  Church  to 
which  she  belonged,  and  this  was  at  once  conceded  by  Murray 
in  his  character  of  delegate  from  the  Lords  of  the  Congrega- 
tion. Trusting  to  this  pledge,  she  gave  orders  that  mass  should 
be  performed  in  the  Royal  Chapel  of  Holyrood ;  but  no 
sooner  was  this  known  than  the  tumults  began.  The  Master 
of  Lindsay  put  on  his  armor,  assembled  his  followers,  and 
rushed  into  the  courtyard  of  the  palace,  exclaiming  that  the 
priests  should  die  the  death  !  The  almoner  of  the  Queen  was 
assaulted,  and  had  difficulty  in  saving  his  life  by  flight. 
"  This,"  says  Horries,  "  took  gi-eat  impression  on  the  Queen, 
for  she  knew  this  durst  not  have  been  done  without  the  j^ro- 
tection  of  great  men.  Lord  James  took  upon  him  to  jiacify 
the  tumult,  which  he  did  to  the  Queen's  disadvantage." 
Knox  seized  the  occasion  to  deliver  a  pithy  sermon  against 
idolatry,  and  averred  in  his  peroration  that  "  one  mass  was 
more  fearful  unto  him  than  if  ten  thousand  armed  enemies 
were  landed  in  ony  parte  of  the  realme,  of  purpose  to  sup- 
press the  whole  religioun."  This  was  a  mere  expression  of 
opinion ;  but  opinions  Avhen  uttered  by  influential  persons, 
often  lead  to  practical  results.  Accordingly,  the  Town- 
council  of  Edinl:)urgh  shortly  afterwards  passed  the  following 
coarse  and  most  disgraceful  resolution  :  — 

"  Secundo  Octobris  L561. 
"  The  quhilk  day  the  Provest,  Baillies,  Counsale,  and  hale 
16 


250  BOTHAVELL. 

Deckynis,  pcrsaving  the  priostis,  raonkis,  frerie,  and  utheris  of 
the  wikit  ruble  of  the  Aiitechrist  the  Paip,  to  resort  to  this 
toune,  encontrare  the  tenour  of  the  Proohvmatioun  maid  in 
the  contrair  ;  therefor  ordanis  the  said  Proedamatioun  to  be 
prochiujyt  of  new,  charg(dng  allmonkis,  frens,  ]iriestis,  nun- 
njs,  adiilteraris,  fornicatouris,  and  all  sic  filthy  personis  to 
remove  themsclfis  of  this  toun,  and  bounds  thairofl",  within 
24  hours,  under  tlie  pane  of  carting  throuch  the  toun,  byrn- 
ing  on  the  cheik,  and  banissing  the  samyn  for  evir." 

It  is  gratifying  to  know  that  this  monstrous  exhibition  of 
civic  insolence  was  followed  by  the  deprivation  of  the  Provost 
and  Bailies. 

After  Mary  was  sent  as  a  prisoner  to  Lochlevcn,  Ilolyrood 
Chapel  was  honored  with  another  sanitory  visit.  According 
to  Ilerries,  "  Before  they  lelt  Edinburgh,  the  Earl  of  Glcncairn, 
with  his  domestick  servants  onlie  in  his  company,  went  to  the 
Chapel  of  Ilalliroodhouse,  and  with  great  noise  broke  down 
the  altar,  and  defaced  every  thing  that  pertained  to  the  orna- 
ments thairof  ;  which  was  much  commended  by  the  ministry 
for  an  act  of  pietie  and  zeal  ;  but  the  nobility  did  not  approve 
of  it,  fur  they  reprehended  him  for  acting  without  a  public 
order." 


"  O  tiger  heart !  that  fiercer  f^reio 
With  every  anguished  breath  she  drew.''^  — P.  143. 

ABDUCTION    OF    QUEKN    MARY    BY    BOTUWKLL. 

Thk  opponents  of  Queen  Mary  would  have  us  believe  that 
no  real  force  was  used,  and  that  she  was  carried  by  Bothwell 
to  Dunbar  with  her  own  consent.  It  is  matter  of  surprise 
to  me   that  a  story  so   palpably   absurd   should   ever   have 


251 


received  credence;  for  if  Mary  was  possessed,  as  her  calum- 
niators say,  by  an  infatuated  passion  for  Botlnvell,  there  was 
no  occasion  whatever  for  her  resorting  to  so  ridiculous  an 
expedient.  Bothwell  iiad  been  tried  for  the  murder,  and  acquit- 
ted. The  strength  of  his  own  party  is  evident  from  the  fact, 
already  stated,  that  he  was  escorted  to  his  trial  by  no  less 
than  four  thousand  gentlemen.  His  influence  with  the  nobil- 
ity is  evidenced  by  the  Band  which  was  granted  to  him  by  so 
many  men  of  high  station,  recommending  him  as  a  fit  person 
to  marry  the  Queen,  and  pledging  themselves  to  assist  him 
in  that  object.  If  Mary  had  really  desired  the  marriage, 
nothing  more  was  needful  than  her  consent  to  the  advice  of 
her  councillors  ;  and  she  might  then  have  wedded  Bothwell 
publicly  without  reproach.  There  was  actually  no  impedi- 
ment in  her  way,  supposing  her  to  have  been  so  inclined  ;  but 
we  are  asked  to  believe  that,  instead  of  following  this  clear 
and  open  course,  she  agreed  that  Bothwell  should  waylay  her 
on  the  public  highway,  almost  at  the  gate  of  her  capital  of 
Edinburgh,  carry  her  oiF  to  Dunbar,  and  detain  her  there  as 
a  captive  !  We  are  asked  to  believe  that  she  willingly  con- 
sented to  appear,  in  the  eyes  of  her  subjects,  as  a  woman 
whose  person  had  been  violated,  and  who  could  only  obtain 
reparation  of  her  wrong  by  marriage  with  her  ravisher ! 
We  are  asked  to  believe  that  Bothwell,  in  the  full  knowledge 
that  he  might  press  his  suit  openly  to  a  successful  conclusion, 
having  already  the  concurrence  of  the  nobility,  was  mad 
enough  to  simulate  a  crime  by  which  he  incurred  the  penal- 
ties of  high  treason,  and  which  could  have  no  other  effect 
than  that  of  raising  the  indignation  of  the  people,  and 
forfeiting  all  chance  of  the  future  support  of  those  peers  and 
barons  who  were  not  implicated  in  any  of  the  conspiracies  of 
the  time,  but  were  devotedly  attached  to  their  Queen  ! 

The  real  obstacle  to  the  marriage  was,   that  Bothwell, 


252  BOTHWELL. 

though  he  had  olitainod  the  support  of  the  nobilit}^  could 
not  obtain  the  consent  of  the  Queen.  I  believe  that,  up  to 
the  time  of  Darnlej's  murder,  Mary  regarded  Butlnvell  with 
as  much  favor  as  could  honestly  be  granted  by  a  sovereign  to 
a  subject  of  high  rank  who  had  rendered  extraordinary  ser- 
vices. He  had  joined  in  none  of  the  conspiracies  which  were 
directed  against  her,  but,  on  the  contrary,  had  been  active  in 
quelling  them  ;  he  had  rejected  with  scorn  all  advances  made 
to  him  by  the  emissaries  of  Elizabeth  ;  and  —  what  was  likely 
to  weigh  much  with  a  woman  of  Mary's  disposition  —  he 
had  shed  his  blood  in  her  cause.  The  visit,  which  Mary, 
accompanied  by  her  brother,  had  paid  to  him  at  Hermitage 
Castle,  wlien  he  was  lying  wounded  there,  was  a  strong  token 
of  her  sense  of  gratitiule  ;  but  lier  feelings  towards  him,  as 
shown  by  her  subse(iuent  conduct,  were  of  no  warmer  kind. 
That  Mary  should  have  believed  him  innocent  of  the  murder 
of  Darnley,  need  surprise  no  one.  ximong  the  avowed  ene- 
mies of  Darnley  were  the  men  who  had  murdered  Riccio 
before  her  face,  intending  the  same  fate  for  Bothwell  on  ac- 
count of  his  loyalty  to  her.  Ilor  suspicion  naturally  liglited 
upon  those  who  had  already  shown  themselves  capable  of 
any  atrocity,  and  Avho  luid  intelligible  cause  of  hatred  against 
Darnley,  their  betrayer.  With  Darnley,  UothAvell  had  no 
personal  ground  of  (juarrel ;  and  it  certainly  appeared  most 
improbable  that  he  would  confederate  witli  men  wlio,  a  few 
months  before,  had  sought  to  take  his  life.  Besides  this, 
popular  rumor  had  not  spared  Mary  herself.  She  had  been 
accused,  as  she  well  knew,  of  being  privy  to  the  murder  of 
her  husl)and;  and,  conscious  of  her  own  innocence,  she 
would  not  l)tlieve  Bothwell  to  be  guilty.  But  I  think,  from 
certain  circumstances  Avhich  occurred  about  the  time  of  IJoth- 
welPs  trial,  that  Mary  had  begun  to  suspect  that  he  was 
aspiring  to  licr  liund.     Deeply  as  IMurray  had  ollonded  her 


253 


on  previous  occasions,  she  -wept  ^passionately  -when  he  came  to 
take  leave  of  her,  and  besought  him  to  remain  in  Scotland. 
This  certainly  she  would  not  have  done,  if  iniiuenced  by  an 
infatuated  passion  for  Bothwell.  Immediately  -after  the  latter 
had  obtained  the  Band  from  the  nobility,  ho  began  to  dis- 
cover his  purpose.  The  following  extract  is  from  Queen 
Mary's  letter  to  the  Bishop  of  Dunblane,  written  after  her 
unhappy  nuptials,  for  the  purpose  of  explaining  to  the  Court 
of  France  the  position  in  which  she  stood.  After  alluding 
to  the  favor  which  she  had  previously  shown  to  Bothwell, 
she  says  :  — 

"But  he,  as  well  has  appeared  since  then,  making  his 
profit  of  everything  that  might  serve  his  turn,  not  discover- 
ing to  our  self  his  intent,  or  that  he  had  any  such  purpose 
in  his  head,  was  content  to  entertain  our  favor  by  his  good 
outward  behavior  and  all  means  possible.  And  in  the  mean- 
time went  about  by  practising  with  the  noblemen  secretly  to 
make  them  his  friends,  and  to  procure  their  consent  to  the 
furtherance  of  his  intents  :  and  so  far  proceeded  by  means 
with  them,  before  that  ever  the  same  came  to  our  knowledge, 
that  our  whole  Estates  being  here  assemliled  in  Parliament, 
he  obtained  a  writing,  subscribed  with  all  their  hands,  where- 
in they  not  only  granted  their  consents  to  our  marriage 
with  him,  but  also  obliged  themselves  to  set  him  forward 
thereto  with  their  lives  and  goods,  and  to  be  enemies  to  all 
would  disturb  or  impede  the  same  ;  which  latter  he  pur- 
chased, giving  them  to  understand  that  we  were  content 
therewith. 

"  And  the  same  being  once  obtained,  he  begun  afar  off  to 
discover  his  intention  to  us,  and  to  assay  if  he  mio-ht  by 
humble  suit  purchase  our  good-will ;  but  finding  our  answer 
nothing  corresponding  to  his  desire,  and  casting  before  his 
eyes  all  doubts  that  customarily  men  use  to  revolve  with 


254  BOTHWELL. 

themselves  in  similar  enterprises,  the  outwardness  of  our  own 
mind,  the  porsiuisious  wliich  our  friendss,  or  his  unfriends, 
might  cast  out  lor  his  hindrance,  the  change  of  their  minds 
■whose  consent  he  had  already  obtained,  with  many  other 
incidents  which  might  occur  to  frustrate  him  of  his  expecta- 
tion, lie  resolved  with  himself  to  follow  forth  his  good  for- 
tune, and  all  respects  laid  apart,  either  to  tyne  (lose)  all  in 
one  hour,  or  to  bring  to  pass  that  thing  he  had  taken  in 
hand  ;  and  so  resolved  quickly  to  prosecute  his  deliberation, 
he  suffered  not  the  matter  long  to  sleep,  but  within  four  days 
thereafter,  finding  opportunity,  by  reason  we  were  past  se- 
cretly towards  Stirling  to  visit  the  Prince  our  dearest  son,  in 
our  returning  he  awaited  us  by  the  way,  accompanied  with 
a  great  force,  and  led  us  with  all  diligence  to  Dunbar.'' 

It  is  easy  to  understand  why  Bothwell  could  not  afford  to 
wait ;  because,  the  day  after  the  Band  was  signed,  Kirkaldy 
began  to  licstir  himself,  and  his  influence  with  the  commons 
was  such  that  he  could  very  soon  have  raised  an  insurrection. 
I  have  no  doubt  that,  notwithstanding  this,  he  would  have 
waited  if  there  had  been  any  reasonable  ground  for  supposing 
that  the  Queen  would  ultimately  consent ;  but  the  failure  of 
his  father  in  his  attempt  to  gain  the  hand  of  Mary  of  Guise 
(vide  previous  note),  may  have  been  regarded  by  him  as  a 
warning  against  delay. 

I  say  nothing  of  what  occurred  at  Dunbar  ;  but  this  much 
must  be  kept  in  mind,  that  the  Act  of  Parliament  for  Both- 
well's  forfeiture  (20th  Dec.  15G7)  contains  the  following  nar- 
rative :  — 

"  And  for  that  purpose,  he  (Bothwell),  with  a  great  num- 
ber of  armed  men  —  to  wit,  a  thousand  horsemen  in  mail, 
and  others  equipped  in  warlike  manner  —  did,  on  the  twenty- 
fourth  day  of  the  month  of  April  last,  waylay  our  dearest 
mother  Mary,   then   Queen  of  Scots,   on  her  journey  from 


NOTES.  255 

Linlithgow  to  our  city  of  Edinburgh,  she  suspecting  no  evil 
from  any  subject  of  hers,  much  less  from  the  said  Earl  of 
Bothwell,  to  whom  she  had  vouchsafed  as  many  tokens  of 
liberality  and  bounty  as  an^-  prince  could  show  or  exhil)it  to 
a  faithful  suljject ;  and  Avith  force  and  treasonable  violence 
did  seize  upon  her  august  person,  and  did  lay  violent  hands 
upon  her,  not  permitting  her  to  enter  the  city  of  Edinburgh 
peacefully ;  but  committed  the  heinous  crime  of  ravishment 
upon  her  august  person,  by  apprehending  our  said  dearest 
mother  on  the  public  highway,  and  by  carrying  her  away  on 
the  s.ime  night  to  the  Castle  of  Danbar,  which  was  then  in 
his  keeping ;  by  forcibly  and  violently  incarcerating  and 
holding  her  therein  captive  for  the  space  of  twelve  days  or 
thereby  ;  and  by  compelling  her,  through  fear,  to  which 
even  the  most  constant  of  women  are  liable,  to  give  him  a 
promise  of  marriage  at  as  early  period  as  it  possibly  could  be 
contracted." 

If  there  is  any  faith  to  be  placed  in  public  records  or  sol- 
emn acts  of  national  assemblies,  this  statute,  which  was 
passed  after  ]Mary  was  dejDosed,  must  clear  her  of  the  charge 
of  deliberate  collusion  Avith  Bothwell.  Her  enemies  were 
then  in  power ;  and  it  is  not  credible  that  they  would  have 
lost  such  an  opportunity  of  justifying  their  rebellion,  had 
they  been  able  to  show  that  Mary  went  willingly  with  Both- 
well  to  Danbar.  The  attainder  of  Bothwell  was  certain 
upon  other  grounds.  Nay,  more ;  this  Act  was  passed  six 
months  after  the  silver  casket,  alleged  to  contain  letters  from 
Mary  to  Bothwell,  was  seized,  when  Dalgleish,  Bothwell's 
groom  of  the  chambers,  was  appreliended.  The  letters  are 
now,  I  believe,  universally  admitted  to  be  rank  forgeries  ; 
but  if  any  one  should  still  entertain  a  doubt  as  to  that,  let 
him  remember  that  the  letters,  if  genuine,  must  have  been  in 
the  hands  of  Murray  and  Morton  six  months  before  the  Act 


256  BOTHAVELL. 

for  Bothweirs  fovfeiture  was  pussecl,  and  that,  according  to 
their  tenor,  the  narrative  of  the  Act  was  false.  This  is  one 
of  the  most  remarkable  instances  in  history-  tending  to  show 
that  deliljerate  villany  leads  to  inextricalilc  contradictions. 
If  the  letters  said  to  be  written  by  Mary  to  Bothwell  were 
genuine  —  if  they  had  even  been  forged  at  so  early  a  period  — 
is  it  conceivable  that  Murray,  with  such  evidence  in  his 
hands,  would,  as  Regent,  have  passed  an  Act  which  expressly 
acquits  Mary  of  all  complicity  with  Bothwell?  Be  it  re- 
membered, also,  that  at  the  time  when  that  Act  was  passed, 
the  Queen's  cause  was  by  no  means  desperate.  A  large  party 
of  the  nobility  and  barons  were  convinced  of  her  innocence, 
indignant  at  the  treachery  which  had  been  used  towards  her, 
and  determined  to  reinstate  her  on  the  throne  ;  and  therefore 
the  dominant  faction  was  little  likely  to  omit  any  opportu- 
nity of  casting  a  stain  upon  her  character. 

I  would  further  ask  those  who  doubt  the  innocence  of 
Mary,  to  consider  how  far  her  demeanor  and  that  of  Both- 
well,  after  tlieir  marriage,  is  consistent  with  the  theory  of  a 
devoted  attachment  upon  her  part.  I  shall  not  insist  upon 
the  fact  that  she  was  brought  from  Dunbar,  not  to  Ilolyrood, 
but  to  the  Castle  of  Edinburgh,  where  she  was  kept  closely 
guarded  till  the  day  of  marriage.  That  might  have  been 
collusive.  But  take  Melville's  account  of  what  followed  the 
nuptials:  "  When  I  returned  to  Edinburgh,  I  dealt  with  Sir 
James  Balfour  not  to  part  with  the  Castle,  whereby  he  might 
be  an  instrument  to  save  the  Prince  and  the  Queen,  who  was 
80  disdaiufull}'  handled,  and  with  such  reproachful  language, 
that,  in  presence  of  Arthur  Artskine,  I  heard  her  ask  for  a 
knife  to  stal)  hers;lf,  or  else,  said  she,  I  shall  drown  myself." 
Five  days  after  tlie  marriage,  Druiy,  writing  to  Cecil,  said, 
**  The  opinion  of  divers  is  tliat  the  Queen  is  the  most  changed 
woman  in  laci',  tluit  in  so  little  a  time,  without  extremity  of 


NOTES.  257 

sickness,  they  have  seen;"  and  on  the  very  day  after  the 
marriage,  she  said  to  De  Croc,  the  French  ambassador,  "  that 
he  must  not  be  surprised  if  he  saw  her  sorrowful,  for  she 
could  not  rejoice,  nor  ever  should  again  :  all  she  desired  was 
death."  Such  were  the  manifestations  of  the  vehement  and 
passionate  love  which  some  historians  would  have  us  to  be- 
lieve that  Mary  felt  for  Bothwell ! 


"  Was  it  a  dream?  or  did  I  hear 
A  yell  of  scorn  assail  my  ear, 
As  frantic  from  the  host  I  rode?  " — P.  185. 

bothwell's  flight  from  carberry. 

I  HAVE  endeavored,  as  nearly  as  poetical  requirements 
would  allow,  to  follow  histor}'  accurately.  I  interpret  the 
events  thus.  Bothwell,  by  carrying  ]\Iary  off  to  Dunbar,  at 
once  consummated  his  own  ruin.  His  fellow-conspirators 
mig  t  easily  have  rescued  her  from  his  hands ;  but  their 
object  was  to  have  her  married  to  him,  so  they  delayed. 
After  the  marriage  had  taken  place,  they  lost  no  time,  but 
strengthened  themselves  by  calling  in  the  aid  of  such  of  the 
Border  barons  as  regarded  with  jealousy  the  increasing  power 
of  the  house  of  Hepburn.  They  could  also  depend  upon  the 
assistance  of  the  craftsmen  of  Edinburgh,  a  body  trained  to 
the  use  of  arms,  and  not  degenerate  from  their  fathers,  who 
had  fought  valiantly  at  Flodden.  Bothwell,  on  the  other 
hand,  had  none  beyond  his  own  troopers  in  whom  he  could 
phice  perfect  reliance.  The  royal  summons  had  brouglit  to 
Dunbar  many  of  the  East-Lothian  barons,  headed  by  Lords 


258  BOTHWELL. 

Seton,  Yoster,  and  Borthwick  ;  but  thoy  wore  not  partisans  of 
Buthwc'U,  and  came  simply  on  account  uf  the  Queen.  Both- 
well  was  perfectly  aware  of  this,  and  of  the  Queen's  desire 
to  escape,  if  possible,  from  his  hands  ;  and  that  knowledge 
accounts  for  his  behavior.  I  shall  quote  once  more  from 
Melville  :  — 

"  Both  armies  lay  not  far  from  Carberry  :  the  Earl  of 
Bothwell's  men  camped  upon  the  hill,  in  a  strength  very 
advantageous;  the  lords  encamped  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 
And  albeit  her  Majesty  was  there,  I  cannot  call  it  her  army, 
for  many  of  those  who  were  with  her  were  of  opinion  that 
she  had  intelligence  with  the  Lords,  especially  such  as  were 
informed  of  the  many  indignities  put  u2:)on  her  I)y  the  Earl  of 
Bothwell  since  their  marriage.  He  was  so  beastly  and  sus- 
picious, that  he  suffered  her  not  to  pass  one  day  in  patience, 
without  making  her  shed  abundance  of  tears.  Thus  part  of 
his  own  company  detested  him  ;  other  part  of  them  believed 
that  her  Majesty  would  fain  have  been  quit  of  him,  but 
thought  shame  to  be  the  doer  of  the  deed  directly  herself." 

The  statements  in  the  poem  regarding  Kirkaldy  of  Grange, 
are  historically  true.  I  must  do  Bothwell  the  justice  to  say 
that,  from  all  the  accounts  extant,  bis  challenges  were  not 
mere  bravado,  but  that  he  was  almost  insanely  anxious  to 
meet  Morton  in  single  combat.  Botliwell  was  a  man  of  great 
physical  courage,  which  is  more  than  can  be  said  for  the 
adversary  whom  he  selected ,  who  was  very  glad  to  accept  of 
Lord  Lindsay  of  the  Byres  as  his  substitute  ;  but  a  duel 
under  such  circumstances  would  have  been  ridiculous.  Mary 
wanted  to  be  rid  of  Bothwell,  and  signilied  as  much  to  the 
Lords  \vh(j  came  in  obedience  to  her  summons  ;  but  with  that 
noble  spirit  wliicli  was  always  her  characteristic,  she  refused 
to  make  any  terms  with  the  confederated  nobles  until  Both- 
well's r(;treat  was  secured.     Tiien,  and  not  till  then,  she  took 


259 


an  everlasting  farewell  of  the  man  who,  instigated  by  others, 
worse  traitors  than  hiiusL4f,  had  achieved  her  ruin.  Her 
reception  in  the  camp  of  the  confederates  does  not  fall  within 
the  scape  of  the  poem. 


"  Till,  chased  across  the  open  seas, 
I  met  the  surly  Dane; 
These  were  his  (jijts  and  wehotne  —  these ! 
A  dungeon  and  a  chuin.'^  —  P.  187. 

bothwell's    imprisonment   and  confession. 

After  his  flight  from  the  northern  islands,  where  he 
escaped  with  difficulty  from  the  vessels  sent  in  pursuit,  under 
the  command  of  Kirkaldy  of  Grange  and  Murray  of  TuUi- 
bardine,  Bothwell  was  taken  prisoner  by  a  Danish  man-of- 
war,  and  brought  to  Bergen  in  Norway.  The  cause  of  his 
arrest  and  deten  tion  seems  to  have  been  the  absence  of  regular 
papers  and  passports,  which  led  to  the  suspicion  that  his  two 
ships  had  been  employed  for  piratical  purposes ;  and  Both- 
well,  for  obvious  reawns,  refused  at  first  to  disclose  his  name 
and  quality.  Concealment,  however,  was  impossible,  and  he 
was  then  sent,  by  the  desire  of  the  King,  to  Denmark,  where 
for  a  few  months  he  remained  at  large,  but  under  surveillance. 
The  Regent  Murray  having  discovered  where  he  was  residing, 
applied  to  Frederick  II.  to  have  him  delivered  up,  on  the 
allegation  that  he  had  been  adjudged  guilty  of  the  death  of 
Darnley.  Frederick,  however,  was  too  cautious  to  acknow- 
ledge the  authority  of  a  man  who  had  just  dethroned  his 
sister  and  sovereign,  but  compromised  the  matter  by  subject- 


260  BOTHAV^ELL. 

ing  Botliwell  to  close  confinement  in  the  fortress  of  Malmoe. 
The  following  is  a  translation  of  the  order  for  his  imprison- 
ment :  "  Frederick.  Be  it  known  to  you  that  we  have 
ordered  our  well-beloved  Peder  Oxe,  our  man,  Councillor  and 
Marshall  of  the  kingdom  of  Denmark,  to  send  the  Scottish 
Earl  who  resides  in  the  Castle  of  Copenhagen,  over  to  our 
Castle  of  ^lalmoe,  where  he  is  to  remain  for  some  time. 
Therefore  we  request  of  you  tliat  you  will  have  prepared  that 
same  vaulted  room  in  the  Castle,  where  the  Marshal  Eyler 
Ilardenberg  had  his  apartment ;  and  that  you  will  cover  with 
masonwork  the  private  place  in  the  said  chamber,  and  where 
the  iron  bars  of  the  windows  may  not  be  sufficiently  strong 
and  well  guarded,  that  you  will  have  them  repaired  ;  and 
when  he  arrives,  that  you  will  put  him  into  the  said  cham- 
ber, give  him  a  bed  and  good  entertainment,  as  Peder  Oxe 
•will  further  direct  and  advise  you  ;  and  that  ye,  before  all 
things,  will  keep  a  strong  guard,  and  hold  in  good  security 
the  said  Earl  as  you  may  best  devise,  in  order  that  he  may 
not  escape.  Thereby  our  will  is  done.  —  Written  in  Fried- 
richsberg,  28th  day  of  December,  of  the  year  after  the  birth 
of  Christ  15 07." 

!  During  the  earlier  part  of  his  confinement,  Bothwell 
appears  to  have  occupied  himself  in  the  composition  of  me- 
morials addressed  to  the  King  of  Denmark,  for  the  purpose 
of  asserting  his  innocence  and  o])taining  his  liberty.  These 
documents,  which  are  of  great  historical  intei-est,  were 
printed  for  the  Bannatyne  Club  from  an  authenticated  copy 
of  tlic  originals,  which  are  preserved  in  tlic  royal  library  at 
Drottingliolm,  under  the  title  of  Les  Affaires  du  Conte  de 
Boducl;  and  they  throw  a  strong  light  upon  the  daring 
character  and  mendacity  of  the  writer.  The  narrative  opens 
with  tlie  following  declaration  :  "In  order  that  tlie  King  of 
Dciiiiiiirk  and  tlic  Council  of  his  kingdom  may  be  better  and 


261 


more  clearly  informed  of  the  wickedness  and  treachery  of  my 
accusers  hereafter  named,  I  have  (as  succinctly  as  I  am  able) 
explained  and  truly  declared  the  causes  of  the  troubles  and 
commotions  which  have  occurred  ;  of  which  they  alune  have 
been  the  principal  authors  and  promoters  from  the  year  1559 
to  the  present  time.  I  have  similarly  declared  their  calum- 
nies, and  the  mischief  and  detriment  they  have  occasioned  to 
myself:  which  statement  I  can  and  will  maintain  to  be  true, 
as  (with  God's  assistance)  any  one  may  clearly  see  and 
understand." 

The  narrative  itself  is  exceedingly  artful,  truth  and  false- 
hood being  blended  together  so  dexterously  as  to  make  the 
story  plausible,  and  to  leave  the  impression  that  Bothwell  had 
been  made  the  innocent  victim  of  a  deep-laid  and  unprincipled 
conspiracy.  The  first  memorial  appears,  from  its  date,  "  Co- 
penhagen, Eve  of  Twelfth  day  {la  vielle  des  roys),  15G8," 
to  have  been  written  immediately  before  his  imprisonment ; 
but  the  second  is  dated  from  Malmoe,  13th  January  1568. 
In  this  latter  document  Bothwell  assumes  high  ground,  repre- 
senting himself  as  an  ambassador  from  Queen  Mary  to  the 
King  of  Denmark,  "  comme  allie  et  confedere  de  la  Royne," 
sent  to  solicit  aid  and  assistance,  in  the  shape  of  troops  and 
vessels,  towards  rescuing  her  from  the  hands  of  her  insurgent 
nobility.  He  further  states  that  he  is  authorized,  in  return 
for  such  assistance,  "  to  oifer  to  his  said  Majesty  to  restore 
the  islands  of  Orkney  and  Zetland,  free  and  quit,  without 
any  reservation,  to  the  crown  of  Denmark  and  Norway,  as 
they  had  been  in  time  past."  No  answer  seems  to  have  been 
made  to  these  memorials  ;  and  the  unhappy  man  never  quit- 
ted the  prison  in  which  he  had  been  immured. 

Lord  Herries,  in  his  Historie  of  the  Reign  of  Marie  Queen 
of  Scots,  gives  the  following  account  of  him  after  his  flight 
from  Zetland,  and  this  may  be  taken  as  the  popular  rumor 


262  BOTHWELL. 

of  that  time.     "  From  thence  l-.e  went  to  Denmark,  where  he 
was  known  by  some  Scots  merchants  that  acquented  the  Earl 
of  Murray  at  their  returne,  when  he  was  Regent.     "Where- 
upon he  sends  to  the  King  of  Denmark  an  information  against 
him,  and  desired  him  to  put  him  to  death,  for  an  example  to 
all  wlio  shall  attempt  the  Prince's  lyfe.     It  is  recurded  that 
the  King  uf  Denmark  caused  cast  him  in  a  lothsome  jn-isone, 
where  none  had  access  uiitu  him  but  only  those  who  carried 
him  such  scurvie  meat  and  drink  as  was  allowed,  which  was 
given  him  in  at  a  little  window.    Here  he  was  kept  ten  years, 
till,  being  overgrown  with  hair  and  filth,  he  went  mad  and 
died  —  a  just  punishment  for  li is  wickedness."     It  appears, 
however,  that  Bothwcll  died  in  the  course  of  1576,  as  on  1st 
June  of  tliat  year  Queen  Mary  wrote  from  Sheffield  to  Be- 
toun.  Archbishop  of  Glasgow,  her  ambassador  at  Paris,  as 
follows  :     "  I  have  received  intelligence  of  the  death  of  the 
Earl  of  Bothwell  ;  as  also  that  before  his  decease  he  made  an 
ample  confession  of  his  crimes,  and  acknowledged  himself  to 
have  been   the  author  and  guilty  of  the  murder  of  the  late 
King,  my  husband,  wherein  he  expressly  acquits  me,  declaring 
me  innocent  even  on  the  peril  of  the  damnation  of  his  soul. 
If  this  indeed  be  so,  this  testimony  would  be  of  vast  impor- 
tance in  refuting  the  false  calumnies  of  my  enemies.     I  pray 
you  therefore,  by  every  means,  to  ascertain  the  truth  of  this. 
Those  who  were  present  at  the  said  declaration,  which  was 
afterwards  signed  and  sealed  in  the  form  of  a  testament,  are 
Otto  Braw  of  the  Castle  of  Elcambre,   Paris   Braw  of  the 
Castle  of  Vascut,  M.  Gullunstarne  of  the  Castle  of  Fulkcn- 
stcre,  the  Bishop  of  Schonen,  and  four  Bailill's  of  the  town." 
In  reply,  the  Archbishop  states  that  he  had  heard  of  the 
death   of   Bothwell,   and   that   the    French    ambassador  in 
Denmark  had  been  instructed  to  apply  for  a  formal  copy  of 
the  testament.     On  Gth  January  1577,  Queen  Mary  again 


NOTES.  263 

wrote  to  the  Archbishop  of  Glasgow  in  these  terms  :  "I  am 
assured  that  the  King  of  Denmark  has  transmitted  to  this 
Queen  (Elizabeth)  the  testament  of  the  late  Earl  of  Bothwell, 
and  that  she  has  done  the  utmost  in  her  power  to  suppress 
and  keep  it  secret."  About  tlie  same  time  the  Archbishop 
wrote  to  Queen  Mary  that,  according  to  his  information,  a 
copy  of  the  testament  had  been  sent  to  Scotland  ;  that  it  had 
been  in  the  hands  of  Murray  of  Tullibardine,  the  Comptroll- 
er ;  and  that  it  had  been  perused  by  the  Prince  (James),  who 
thereupon  used  the  following  words:  "  Tullibardine,  have.  I 
not  reason  to  be  glad,  considering  the  accusations  and  calum- 
nies against  my  mother  the  Queen,  so  often  repeated  to  me, 
when  I  have  this  day  seen  so  clear  a  proof  of  her  innocence?  " 
The  authenticity  of  these  letters,  which  are  to  be  found  in 
Keith  and  Labanoff,  is  undoubted  ;  and  I  think  that  they 
establish  very  clearly  two  things  :  1st,  That  Bothwell  did  emit 
a  dying  declaration  or  testament  ;  and,  2dly,  That  copies  of 
that  document,  if  not  the  original,  had  been  transmitted  to 
England  and  Scotland.  I  might  perhaps  be  entitled  to  say 
that  they  establish  something  more,  viz.  the  tenor  of  that 
declaration,  as  testifying  to  Queen  Mary's  innocence  of  any 
participation  in  the  murder  of  Darnley  ;  but  I  do  not  wish 
to  follow  the  example  of  those  who  have  labored  to  make 
out  her  guilt,  by  attaching  too  much  importance  to  casual 
expressions  or  reported  conversations.  But  the  question  will 
necessarily  occur  to  every  candid  and  inquiring  mind — why, 
if  this  declaration  was  not  favora1)le  to  Queen  Mary,  should 
it  have  been  suppressed  ?  That  suppression  was  freely  used 
for  the  purpose  oi injuring  Mary,  is  proved  by  a  letter,  printed 
in  Goodall's  Appendix,  from  the  Earl  of  Morton  and  others, 
Commissioners  at  the  Conference  in  England,  to  the  Regent ; 
in  which,  referring  to  a  communication  on  this  very  subject 
from  Denmark,  they  say  :  "  In  that  we  had  no  will  the  con- 


264  BOTHWELL. 

tents  of  the  same  should  he  known,  fearing  that  some  words 
and  matters  mentioned  in  the  same,  heing  dispersed  here  as 
news,  should  rather  have  hindered  than  forwarded  our  cause. 
And  therefore,  being  desired  at  Court  to  show  the  letter,  loe 
(/ave  to  understand  that  we  had  sent  the  principal  awaij ;  and 
delivered  a  copy,  omitting  such  things  as  we  thought  not  meet 
to  be  shown,  as  your  Grace  may  perceive  by  the  like  copy, 
■which  also  we  have  sent  you  herewith." 

Further,  Chalmers  says,  on  the  authority  of  a  letter  from 
Sir  John  Forster  to  Secretary  Walsingham,  "  that  Bothwell's 
Testament  was  given  in  evidence  against  Morton  on  his  trial 
for  the  King's  murder."  This  fact  is  important,  as  removing 
the  objection  started  by  Mr.  Laing,  that  Bothwell,  having 
died  mad,  was  incapable  of  a  genuine  confession  at  his  death. 
It  proves  that  he  did  emit  a  confession,  and  also  that  this  con- 
fession was  received  as  good  evidence  by  a  Supreme  Court  of 
Justice,  which  assuredly  would  not  have  been  the  case  had 
Bothwell,  through  insanity,  been  incapable  of  making  a 
deposition. 

No  copy  of  that  testament  has  been  preserved ;  but  there 
is,  in  the  Cottonian  Library,  a  document  of  that  period, 
entitled,  "  Copy  of  a  llelation  of  the  Earl  of  Bothwell's 
Declaration  at  his  Death,  by  one  that  was  present."  That 
document  bears  no  date,  and  the  name  of  the  writer  is  not 
appended  to  it.  Consequently  it  is  lialile  to  criticism ;  and 
has  been  criticized  very  severely  indeed  liy  the  ingenious 
but  somewhat  l)igoted  ]\Ir.  Laing. 

After  recounting  the  names  of  the  persons  who  were  pres- 
ent at  the  taking  of  the  deposition  or  declaration,  this 
document  bears  that  the  said  parties  "  prayed  the  said  Earl 
to  declare  freely  and  truly  whalt  he  knew  of  the  death  of  the 
late  King  Henry  (Darnley),  and  of  the  authors  thereof, 
according  as  he  should  answer  before  God  at  the  day  of  judg- 


NOTES.  265 

ment,  -where  all  things,  however  secret  they  may  be  here, 
shall  be  laid  open.  Then  the  said  Earl,  declaring  that 
through  his  present  great  weakness  he  was  not  able  to  dis- 
course all  the  separate  steps  of  these  things,  testified  that  the 
Queen  was  innocent  of  that  death,  and  that  only  he  himself, 
his  friends,  and  some  of  the  nobility,  were  the  authors  of 
it."  The  writer  of  the  paper  further  states,  that  "this 
whole  narrative,  and  much  more  largely  extended,  was 
written  both  in  Latin  and  Danish,  and  sealed  with  the  King 
of  Denmark's  seal,  and  of  the  persons  who  assisted  as 
above."  Now  let  us  see  in  what  manner  Mr.  Laing  deals 
with  this  document. 

In  the  first  place,  he  asserts  that  Queen  Mary  had  seen  this 
paper  at  the  time  when  she  wrote  to  Archbishop  Betoun  (as 
above  quoted),  with  the  intelligence  of  the  death  of  Bothwell, 
and  of  his  having  made  a  confession.  For  this  assertion  he 
has  no  kind  of  authority.  It  is  a  pure  hypothesis  of  his  own ; 
and,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  rested  entirely  upon  another  asser- 
tion of  his,  viz.  that  the  names  of  the  parties  mentioned  in 
Queen  Mary's  letter  as  having  been  present  at  the  confession, 
correspond  entirely  with  those  set  forth  in  the  "  Relation." 
Such  is  not  the  fact.  In  the  "  Relation,"  Berin  Gowes,  of  the 
Castle  of  Malmoe,  is  mentioned  immediately  after  the  Bishop 
of  Schonen,  as  one  of  the  "  quatre  grands  Seigneurs  "  present 
at  the  confession  ;  — in  Queen  Mary's  letter  the  name  of  this 
lord  does  not  appear.  In  like  manner.  Otto  Braw  is  designa- 
ted in  the  "  Relation  "  as  "  of  the  castle  of  Ottenbrocht  "  — 
in  Queen  Mary's  letter  he  is  styled  "  of  the  castle  of  Elcam- 
bre."  These  variations  are  sufficiently  important  to  negative 
the  idea  that  Mary  had  seen  this  ' '  Relation  ' '  before  she  wrote 
to  Betoun  ;  and  I  think  that  Mr.  Laing  himself  has  proved 
this  to  be  impossible.  Among  the  names  of  Bothwell's  ac- 
complices, as  given  in  the  "  Relation,"  there  occurs  that  of 
17 


266  BOTHAVELI,. 

"  my  Lord  Robert  Abbe  de  Sainte-Croix,  mainfenant  Comte  des 
Isles  Orchades.''^  Now,  as  Mr.  Laing  truly  enough  remarks, 
Robert  Stewart  was  not  created  Earl  of  Orkney  until  1581,  five 
years  after  the  death  of  Bothwell  ;  but  he  accounts  for  the 
mistake  —  for  such  he  assumes  it  to  be  —  hy  supposing  that 
Betoun  had  somehow  or  other  conceived  the  idea  that  Stewart, 
who  received  a  grant  of  the  crown-lands  of  Orkney  from 
Queen  Mary  in  1505,  a  short  time  before  she  married  Darnley, 
had  also  got  the  title.  In  order  to  clear  the  way  for  this  in- 
terpretation, we  must  suppose  that  Betoun  deliberately  forged 
the  "  Relation,"  and  forwarded  it  to  Mary,  in  order  that  she 
might  write  him  to  procure  a  copy  of  the  original  testament, 
which,  in  the  opinion  of  Mr.  Laing,  never  had  existence  !  It 
does  not  seem  to  have  occurred  to  Mr.  Laing  that  the  natural 
explanation  is,  that  the  "  Relation,"  which,  as  I  have  said 
already,  bears  no  date,  was  penned  subsequently  to  1581,  and 
that,  in  consequence,  Robert  Stewart  is  therein  correctly  des- 
ignated as  "  MAiNTEXANT  Comtc  dcs  Isles  Orchades."  Had 
the  "Relation  "  been  mentioned  or  referred  to  in  the  letters 
either  of  Queen  Mary  or  of  Betoun,  the  objection  would  have 
had  mucli  force.  But  it  never  was  mentioned  or  referred  to  ; 
and  therefore  the  criticism  is  pointless. 

I  must  further  observe  that  Mr.  Laing,  in  stating  that  "  the 
testament  is  a  shallow  forgery,"  seems  to  confound  things 
essentially  apart.  If  tliere  was  a  testament,  as  I  think  is 
very  clearly  demonsti'ated,  upon  what  authority  does  Mr. 
Laing  assert  that  it  was  forged?  No  copy  of  tlie  testament 
now  exists,  and  we  have  only  a  general  statement  of  its  tenor. 
It  never  was  in  the  hands  of  Queen  Mary,  her  advisers,  or 
agents — if  anywhere,  it  was  in  the  liands  of  lier  enemies. 
Did  Ihcyforfjeit?  Trobably,  however,  Mr.  Laing  meant  to 
Bay  that  tlio  "  Relation  "  was  a  forgery.  To  supp(jrt  that  view, 
he  has  done  nutliing  more  than  urge  the  objections  which  I 


NOTES. 


267 


trust  I  have  sufficiently  refuted  ;  and  it  certainly  is  a  remark- 
able fact  that  this  paper,  if  forged,  was  never  heard  of  until 
long  after  Queen  Mary  perished  on  the  scaffold.  For  my  own 
part,  without  attaching  undue  weight  to  this  document,  I 
consider  it  entitled  to  as  much  credence  as  can  be  given  to 
any  which  is  not  authenticated  by  the  name  of  the  writer. 
If  Bothwell  emitted  no  confession,  the  "Relation''  is  of 
course  a  forgery.  If,  on  the  contrary,  he  did  emit  a  confes- 
sion, as  seems  proved  both  by  the  letters  of  Queen  Mary  and 
Betoun,  and  by  the  fact  that  such  a  document  was  produced 
at  the  trial  of  Morton,  then  the  "  Relation  "  becomes  valua- 
ble, as  sliowing  what  was  the  general  tenor  of  the  confession 
of  Bothwell,  in  regard,  at  least,  to  the  innocence  of  Mary. 


THE    END. 


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